Just the Way it Should Be
by KRRouse
Summary: Locked away in the Port Royal jail, Pintel spends the night reflecting long and hard on his first voyage with Ragetti. A prequel to “Dead Man’s Chest.”
1. Moonlit Prison

(Disclaimer: I do not own Pintel, Ragetti, or Pirates of the Caribbean, though like most Fanfic writers, I really wish I did.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

There was a full moon out that night.

It shown clearly in the night sky, glowing softly overhead as it cast its silvery light down on Port Royal. A still, almost tomblike silence had fallen over the small town at this hour, as every man, woman, and child had gone to their beds some time ago. Not a soul was stirring in the peaceful town that night.

Save for one.

Locked away in the dingy old jail cell that he'd come to know and despise for what felt like an eternity now, Pintel sat with his back against the iron bars as he stared at the floor before him in deep thought.

It had to be ten months now. It had to have been ten months since they'd brought him to this place. Ten miserable months since the curse had been lifted, and the crew of the Black Pearl had departed from the dreaded Isla de Muerta as prisoners of the British Navy.

Playing those events over again in his head, Pintel frowned to himself. Prisoners.

The thought of the word sickened him, so much so that he hardly even gave a thought to the dim moonlight shining through his cell window, now showing him to be a mortal man once again. It wasn't worth celebrating, he'd decided; now, he had an equally terrible—if not worse—fate to live with.

Pintel raised his eyes to stare at the opposite wall of bars just then. Only seven members of the captured crew—exactly half—had been taken away to the gallows since their arrest. He didn't know why the chaps running this jail had kept the other seven of them alive for so long. Maybe they wanted to research each of the pirates' backgrounds further; to dig up as many of the sea rats' past charges against the crown as possible, for when the time did come to hang another one. Or maybe the soldiers of Port Royal just found it sadistically amusing to watch their captives slowly lose their minds in these filthy cages.

It was this last thought that made Pintel turn his attention to the other man in his cell. The lanky figure was slouched on the bench beneath the window as he slept, with his spindly legs drawn tightly up against his chest and his chin wedged between his knees.

Of all the still living crewmen, Ragetti had probably suffered and lost the most from this ten-month nightmare. Gone was the giddy, child-like rascal that Pintel had grown to know over the years, now replaced by a sulking, bitter-minded wretch. Rags rarely even spoke anymore, and he always stayed huddled up by himself on that bench, glaring daggers at the empty air in front of him. He was forever lost in his own dark thoughts now.

Pintel often wondered how his younger mate had even managed to cling to his optimistic outlook for as long as he had, what with all the misery that he'd run into before this. It was probably that optimism alone that had pulled Ragetti through the horrors of his unhappy life; the neglectful, miserable childhood, the loss of his eye, the curse…

And now, even the few tiny shards of hope that he had scraped together from that mess were gone, as life had dealt him another, far more terrible card.

Pintel furrowed his brow as he remembered the day they'd all been herded into this prison. Rags had not gone willingly into his captivity. The scrawny pirate, with absolute terror plastered on his pale face, had made one last break for freedom as he was being dragged towards the cells. He'd managed to wrench his thin arms free from the soldiers' grasps and had bolted away, directionless, as fast as his legs could carry him.

He hadn't gotten more than a meter. The soldier behind him had seen the pitiful escape attempt coming, and sent Ragetti reeling with one blow of his rifle's butt. And then two more of the uniformed dogs had joined in with their weapons, and had beaten Rags so badly into submission that by the time they finally threw him inside that cell, he wouldn't even let Pintel come near him.

The optimism had been dead ever since.

But it was the events of this afternoon, ten months after their arrest, that were bothering Pintel tonight.

Ragetti had been silently studying his hand earlier that day, locking his heated gaze onto the long brown scar on his palm. His older cellmate, with his eyes closed and his back against the adjacent wall, had paid him no mind.

And then Rags had spoken.

"It was a right foul fing, what we done to Cap'n Sparrow," he'd grumbled, never looking away from his hand.

Pintel had snapped his eyes open and stared up at the other man. The sound of that voice had become almost foreign to him. "Wot?"

"Mutinizin' against 'im," Ragetti had explained impatiently. "Leavin' 'im on that island t'die. We done it to 'im _twice_!"

The other had scoffed, recovering from his stupor. "So wot yeh sayin'? Yeh likes the chump now? It's his bloody fault that we're even in here!"

"It ain't Cap'n Sparrow's fault." Ragetti had turned to meet Pintel's eye sharply as he gave this cold response. Then he'd placed his chin back on his knees and resumed staring at the ugly remnant of his blood debt. "I doesn't feel sorry for us."

These words had been haunting Pintel ever since, and they continued to plague him now as he watched his despondent friend sleeping.

Prison had taken its final toll. Ragetti had completely given up his desire for freedom, the same freedom that he'd once struggled so desperately to keep. And even he, Pintel, was becoming resigned to his own lifelessness as well. How many times had he tried to bribe that flea-bitten mongrel into bringing them the keys that first month? It'd seemed like he couldn't go a whole day without reaching through the bars, a piece of bread clutched in his hand, waiting for freedom to scamper up to him. Now, he did nothing but sit on the floor and drearily wonder if another pirate would be taken away today. Their prison was consuming them.

Pintel turned his head and squinted out through the jail bars to the space outside his cell. Even in the shadows, he could see the little gray dog lying on the floor, growling softly in its sleep. He'd become used to watching the stubborn animal over these ten months, and he'd also become quite familiar with its daily routine.

The guards of Port Royal's prison weren't daft; they knew that their captives would try to lure the hairy little key-keeper into their reaches with food. That was why, whenever they went down to give the prisoners their stale, moldy bread, they made sure to feed the dog as well. However, as detached as he'd grown from his escape plots, Pintel still couldn't help but notice the one small flaw in their plan: they only fed the pirates—and the dog—once a day.

What did he have to lose? He was already facing either death at the gallows or an eternity of rotting in jail. The soldiers could do nothing worse to him. And his ticket to freedom was just lying a few arm lengths away…

His mind was made up. Squaring his jaw, Pintel reached into the pocket of his weathered old jacket and retrieved the crusted morsel of bread that he'd saved from the day's mealtime. He watched the dog for a moment, gathering his voice, then slowly, he reached through the bars once again and held out his meek offering.

"Oi!" he whispered loudly, shaking his elbow slightly to jangle the cell door. A strange anxiousness had come over him suddenly. "Oi, doggy! Wake up, boy! Wake up!"

He'd rattled the iron hinges a little louder on this last command, and to his stunned glee, the furry animal started from its sleep and sat up guardedly. The keys clinked softly together, still dangling from the large ring clenched in its teeth.

Pintel grinned at the dog as he reached out further. "C'mon, boy! C'mere! Come on, doggy. Old Pinters has a nice big treat for yeh."

"It ain't no use, Pinters."

Startled, Pintel instinctively jumped and whirled around to see Ragetti staring at him from the bench. Seeing that his words had been heard, the younger man continued.

"The dog ain't movin'. You've tried getting' 'im to give up the keys millions of times. They all 'ave, and 'e never does."

Pintel shrugged. "Well one more try ain't gonna 'urt nuffin'."

"All it's gonna do is prove once and for all that we don't got no more luck wif us."

This earned a disgusted snort from the other pirate. "We got plenty of luck left. _You_ just give up too easily."

Ragetti wrinkled his nose. "No. I just knows when to let things go."

Pintel ignored this comment. "Listen," he said reasonably. "They only feeds that dog once a day, the same time they feeds us. But he's a little chap! A couple pieces a' bread ain't gonna last 'im. He's gotta be starvin'! We wave this stuff in front of 'im long enough, he's bound to come over."

Ragetti fell silent. He moved his pointed gaze from Pintel and cautiously over to the dog, which blinked back at him vacantly. A moment of stillness passed as he focused on the animal, showing it a deep sense of awareness and regard that he'd rarely shown to his fellow man. And then the cold, harsh light returned to his eyes.

"To blazes w'that mangy mutt." He turned his head away to tuck his chin back in between his knees.

Pintel was absolutely stunned as he stared at Ragetti. Then he sat up straight, forgetting his task for the moment, and pulled his arm back inside the cell. These words had caught him far more off guard than any of the other comments his friend had snarled from that bench.

"I can't believe you just said that," he uttered stiffly, scolding. "You used to like dogs, Rags!"

"I used to like a lot a' fings b'fore we was thrown in here."

Their exchange was ended. Completely at a loss for any more words, Pintel sighed to himself, leaned back against his wall, and, after giving it a final miserable thought, let the piece of bread fall from his hand. It really was no use.

What had happened to his friend? Where had that silly little gawk-eyed boy gone to, and why had he left his body so suddenly, without leaving some trace behind to ward off those unhappy memories? What had become of Ragetti was sad, but the memory of what he used to be made his transformation nothing short of tragic. And now, memories were all Pintel had left of that trusting, optimistic lad he'd met twenty years ago.

And so it was his memories that he looked to as he sat in the moonlight.

-

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(I noticed that Ragetti was a little tougher and more rebellious in "Dead Man's Chest" than he was in "Curse of the Black Pearl." My guess is prison toughened him up a bit. The next chapter will start Pintel's flashback.)


	2. A Bitter Reunion

(Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

Now that he thought back on it, Pintel realized that he'd actually known Ragetti long before he'd ever met him. In any case, he knew _about_ him long before meeting him.

Robert Pintel had never been one to keep track of years, especially his own, but he assumed he was somewhere around the age of thirty at the time. His scraggly long hair was still dark brown in color, and he was blissfully unaware of just how little time he had left with his regular hairline before it would begin its rapid retreat.

It was morning as he made his way through the streets of Tortuga, and a strange quietness had temporarily taken hold of the pirate sanctuary. The reason for this, as Pintel had learned from his own share of experiences, was that nearly every person on the island was either severely hung over or sprawled on the ground from fatigue at this hour. Night was the only real time to live on Tortuga; day was merely the time to recover and prepare for the next night.

It was this surrounding quietness that only made Pintel seem even livelier, snickering loudly to himself as he shook his bag of coins and listened to the jingling inside. It was heavenly music to his unlucky ears, the unmistakable sound of success.

This intoxicating victory kept him in his gleeful state of mind for several more minutes, until he decided to sidestep into a nearby alley space and recount his overdue profit. It was then that the other figure, who had been secretly following him from a distance since he'd stepped off of the ship _Hammer's Bane_ and left the docks, was finally able to catch up to her target.

A sturdy woman of only a few less years, Rebecca Pintel coolly but cautiously observed her brother's stooping figure from behind as she prepared for the inevitable confrontation about to unfold.

Keeping her right hand securely out of sight behind her back, she took a final step forward and spoke.

"I sees bein' a crewman ain't been puttin' yeh down."

Pintel nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice. Quickly dropping the last two silver pieces back into the bag and hiding his prize from sight, he spun around fearfully to face his cornerer. Once he recognized who she was, however, the fear immediately left his face to make room for his anger.

"You!" he barked, pointing his finger viciously. "You stay the hell away from me, yeh dirty li'l tramp!"

Rebecca was unfazed. "Wot's gotten into you?" she asked sharply.

"You know bloody well wot's gotten into me!" Pintel snapped. "I otta' bash you in like the back-stabbin' good-for-nuffin' thief that yeh is!"

"You can't prove I had a fing to do wif 'at, Robert!"

"Can't prove it?" he echoed hotly. "I saw yeh leadin' that fellow along wif my own two eyes!"

"You were dead drunk at the time!" she shot back defensively, and then her tirade came to a screeching, stunned halt.

She had just given herself away.

"A-_HA!_" Pintel blasted, his rage only fueled by his triumph. "You _was_ there! You _was_ behind it after all!"

"That man was gonna pay me extra if I led 'im t'some loot," Rebecca hissed back smoothly. "I wasn't gonna tell 'im 'no'."

Pintel clutched his coin bag even tighter behind him. It was the only reason he was holding back from launching himself at his sister in a fit of anger that very second. "Blimey, you got a lot a' nerve comin' up to me wif 'at story! Wot the blazes was it that brought yeh over here anyway?"

"Money, that's wot," Rebecca grumbled. "I needs money."

Her older brother made a wide sweeping motion with his free arm. "Then go get to work! You ain't runnin' low on customers here!" He'd certainly never known any prostitute to be unemployed on Tortuga.

But Rebecca wasn't budging. "I would if I could!"

"And why the devil can't yeh?"

She bared her teeth at him as she roared her response. "Because I'm with child!"

A sudden hush seized Pintel just then, and for a moment his anger was replaced by confusion. Awkwardly, he started to eye Rebecca up and down, and sure enough, he spotted a slightly prominent feature on his sister's form that he hadn't noticed before. True, she wasn't quite as slim as most women in her profession, but it was clear now that her belly had swollen a tad unnaturally.

There was a pause, then the disgust began bubbling back up inside him "…Aye, I get it. Figured you'll be outta work for nine months, so you decided to leech some money offa' me while I was in town."

"Aye, that's right!" she said back without hesitation.

"Then you're an even bigger idiot than I took yeh for!" Pintel scowled. "If I'm gonna lose me a coin to any whore, it sure as hell ain't gonna be me sister!"

Rebecca stepped closer to him again, placing her left hand squarely on her hip. "Well I ain't leaving you alone 'til yeh cough me up a piece a' your last profit!"

Stubbornness was a trait that the two siblings had inherited equally.

"If that be the case, you're gonna be following charmin' ol' Robert Pintel around for a while, Missie, 'cause I ain't got no profit!"

"You're a lyin' rat," she said flatly.

Pintel nodded. "Aye, I'm lyin' when I says that you'll be followin' me around for a while."

"I know you've got coins, yeh stupid 'og!" Rebecca spat, her patience beginning to reach its end. "Yeh been dancin' and gigglin' like a ninny ever since yeh got here!"

Her brother's surprise at the statement made him even madder. "How bloody long've you been following me!" he demanded.

"Hand the bag over!"

This time, Pintel leaned closer, and with a nasty smirk, he said with cheekiness fit for a toddler, "Make me."

She decided to do just that. Whipping her right hand out from behind her back, Rebecca Pintel held out her arm as straight and steady as a wooden beam, and with a serpent-like poise, aimed the now revealed pistol right between her brother's eyes.

Pintel threw himself back against the wall in a heartbeat, cowering pathetically as he stared down the twin barrel helplessly. His horrified eyes looked like they were ready to pop right out of their sockets at that very instant.

Rebecca glowered at him frigidly. "I said 'and it over."

He was locked in a stare-down contest with his own death, and the twin-barrel wasn't about to blink. With the sound of his heartbeat hammering in his ears, Robert Pintel began to lift his shaking hands, still clutching his hard-earned bag of coins in the left.

And then he froze.

There was a gut-twisting pause as he lifted his gaze from the end of the barrel to the rest of the pistol behind it. In his panic, he'd failed to catch one little detail before, the one little hint that told him just how unfamiliar his sister was with handling this weapon she was aiming at him. He was able to keep his sneaky grin from appearing, but he couldn't help allowing the arrogant sign of victory to switch on in his eye.

The gun wasn't cocked. And he could see from Rebecca's expression that she had no idea.

Pintel lowered his left hand and calmly said, "Maybe you should just shoot me now. It'd be easier gettin' 'at bag out of me fingers if they couldn't 'old on."

His sister was no fool. She saw the look in Robert's eyes. Slowly, warily, she pulled her hand back, pointed the gun into the air, and pulled the trigger.

It didn't move.

Now it was her turn to look surprised. Again, she squeezed the trigger, only to get the same results. Growing anxious, she tried a third time, and a fourth time, and still the gun wouldn't fire.

And then Pintel decided to draw his own pistol.

BANG!

With a single shot, he knocked the gun clear out of Rebecca's trembling hand, sending the weapon clattering harmlessly to the ground. Then he pointed his pistol straight at her without so much as blinking.

Rebecca tensed slightly as she met her brother's gaze. "You wouldn't."

"Oh yeah?" He moved closer, his aim never wavering. "Try me!"

They stood like that for five chilling seconds. Pintel studied his sister's face closely. She'd betrayed and swindled him without a thought, and she had just threatened to kill him not a moment ago. He should have just pulled his trigger right then. But for whatever reason, he held himself back. Instead, he continued to point the gun at her in silence.

Finally, Rebecca could see just how slim her chances were, and slowly started backing away out of the alley.

"You're gonna be sorry for this, Robert!" she growled, trying to end their confrontation with some upper hand.

Pintel just sneered. "I wouldn't 'old my breath for it, Poppet."

She sent him one final glare, then turned and walked off, taking her unborn baggage with her.

And for many years to come, Pintel would wonder why he hadn't just shot her and ended it that day.

--


	3. The First Meeting

(Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

There was always something about Tortuga that drew Pintel to it. Although he was never sure, or even willing to give much thought to the matter, his gut feelings told him that this fascination had nothing to do with cheap rum and abundant ships, but everything to do with his past.

His father, Edward Pintel, had been a pirate all his life. When he was thirty-four, he'd met a woman named Abigail in Port Morant, and although he never married her, he'd loved her enough to return to the Jamaican settlement as often as possible and had had two children with her. Robert and Rebecca, to say the least, had inherited most of their traits from their father, and had always been more than a handful for their mother.

Despite his frequent absences from his family, Edward had in no way forsaken them for his life of piracy. Not a month had gone by without a visit from him, and as the years progressed, those monthly visits had gradually turned to weekly visits. For the seafaring buccaneer, life was beginning to permanently set a course towards land.

And then, abruptly and all too soon, Edward Pintel had ceased to exist. Abigail never learned what had become of her lover, but after nearly two months had come and gone with no sign of him, she'd begun to suspect the worst, and in her panic and desperation, she'd made a choice that would forever change the fate of her two children. She'd taken them down to the docks with her, bartered passage for three onto a merchant ship, and sailed to Tortuga to search for him.

In the end, Abigail never found Edward, and had died on the pirate island from an overwhelming case of Tuberculosis. Robert and Rebecca Pintel, still teenagers at the time and not having a penny to their names, had then taken up work on Tortuga; Rebecca had become a prostitute, and Robert, following in his father's footsteps, had taken to the sea as a pirate.

So the best reason Pintel could give for his attachment to Tortuga was that it was where his career had been launched. But regardless of the reason, Rebecca knew just the same that her brother would eventually return to this haven, and that was how she was able to more or less track him down eleven years after their explosive confrontation.

Pintel had barely taken two steps from the dock when he spotted a slightly stooping, middle-aged man stiffly—but quite quickly—making his way over to him. He was a black man of average build, draped in raggedy old garments, and his bushy hair was just beginning to gray at the ends. The figure pointed a rigid finger at Pintel, and as he spoke, he showed an empty space where one of his front teeth used to be.

"Aye! You dere! You!"

Pintel stared dumbly at him for a second, not expecting a greeting. "Me?"

The other man came to a halt right in front of him. "Are you Robert Pintel?"

"…Wot if I am?"

Taking this response as a yes, the older man turned to stare back in the direction that he'd come from and gestured sharply with one arm. "Aye, boy! Get over here!"

Already hopelessly confused, Pintel squinted through the evening darkness to follow the man's gaze. Several meters away, he caught sight of a much smaller figure approaching them now, slowing its already dragging pace every few steps to peer anxiously behind it.

It was a child, and a scrawny one at that. The boy looked to be no older than ten, with wide, inquisitive blue eyes and a dark blonde bird's nest of hair sprouting from his bobbing head. The youngster hardly gave either of the two men a glance as he came to stand at the bushy-haired fellow's side.

The man nodded eagerly as he pointed to both the boy and Pintel. "Alright," he said with unmasked impatience. "Now you're togeder!" With that, he turned to hurry off again.

Pintel blocked his path. "'Ey—'ey, wait just a second!" he shouted. "Wot're you tryin' t'pull on me 'ere?"

"I'm not pullin' anyting on you," the man answered irritably. "Look, mate, three days ago, some lady came up to me wit dis boy an' told me to leave him wit a fellow named Robert Pintel. Gave me a description dat looked just like you."

The dumbfounded stare returned to Pintel's face, now mixed with his own impatience. "Who was this?

The other man rolled his eyes to himself. "I don't know who she was," he exhaled with frustration. "But she was short wit dark hair and she knew who _you_ was."

Pintel's face went blank as he tried to think. Who would want leave a kid with him?

The skinny lad still had yet to acknowledge anybody. He seemed to be searching for something, turning his head left and right with an anxious expression, scanning the bustling throng of pirates around him with his sharp eyes. He saw no familiar faces in this crowd…

A startling possibility leapt into Pintel's head just then, and he met the bushy-haired man's eye once more.

"Was she…sort of a heavy woman?" he asked.

The other man nodded, now recalling this overlooked detail. "Aye. She was a little bit stocky. Stocky wit dark hair."

Stocky with dark hair…

Realization suddenly dawned on him, and Pintel looked like he'd just been slapped across the face. Completely dumbstruck, he whipped his stare away from the impatient man and gaped down at the child as if he had only now noticed him standing there. The dark blue eyes, the slightly arched back, the fidgety hands… they were all distinctive traits that confirmed his young identity beyond any doubt.

This was Rebecca's son.

Pintel shook his head just then, furrowing his brow as another understanding grasped him. "Oh, I don't believe this," he growled. "You're tellin' me that this woman…is expectin' _me_ to take this kid off 'er 'ands?"

"Aye," the bushy-haired man said curtly. "Dat's what I'm tellin' you."

"Well 'e ain't _my_ son!" Pintel whined. "Why the blazes is she tryin' to dump 'im on me?"

"I don't know, I'm just sayin' what she told me to say!"

The shorter pirate sneered. "Oh yeah? Well you can tell _her_ when she comes back that I ain't interested!"

"She ain't coming back!" the other man snapped. This suddenly got the young boy's attention, and he looked up at the dark-skinned fellow in startled silence.

Pintel blinked. "Wot?"

"She left her kid standin' next to me and said she was goin' to da western shore and dat she wasn't bringin' him wit her. And den she told me to look for a short, stocky man wit long brown hair named Robert Pintel and turn the kid over to him."

The burly man shook his head again, quicker than before. "I'm not takin' the boy."

But the bushy-haired fellow's mind was made up. "Well then you two can figure out what to do. I ain't got the time to hear it!" With that, he spun around and hurried off without so much as a farewell glance.

"Oi, wait a second!" Pintel shouted after him in unexpected alarm. "Don't leave me wif—! … _You can't just_—! … I…"

His calls never reached their intended listener. Dazed by this unfavorable turn of events, and even feeling a bit panicked, the pirate began whipping his head side to side in a fit as he searched for some possible way out. To his dismay, he found none. Then, with no other option left, he looked down at the ten-year-old standing in front of him.

Pintel acknowledged the boy reluctantly. "…'Ello."

In turn, the lad miserably moved his gaze from the departed man's direction and glanced drearily up at the stout, balding one in front of him.

"'Ello," he mumbled back.

Pintel raised his eyebrows with mock sincerity. "Good-bye."

This said, he turned to leave as well, but then stopped as another thought crept into his head. He quickly pivoted back around and snidely met the boy's eye again.

"Oh! An' if yeh happen to see yer old lady again…call her a fat ugly rat." He pointed to himself. "From Robert."

The other said nothing in response, and lowered his head glumly with downcast eyes. He was a downright pathetic sight, standing there with his empty, listless expression. It seemed like he had lost all desire to live at that moment.

Pintel rolled his eyes. How could anyone be depressed about never having to see that piece of filth again? He would have gladly given away half of that year's plunder to have the same privilege as this little idiot! But as he stood there, watching the slouched figure before him, his spitefulness started to wane. Pintel couldn't avoid sympathizing with the boy, even with his rather detached sense of what 'sympathy' meant. After all, he also knew how it felt to be left with nothing, thanks to Rebecca Pintel.

"Got sick of yeh, did she?" he asked in a softer tone. "Figured out she 'ad no use for yeh and just dumped yeh in the road?"

The youngster looked back up at him sadly. "I fought she'd come back…"

Pintel nodded to himself as he glanced at the ground. "Don't feel so good, do it? Knowin' wot she done?"

The boy shook his head.

"Good. You're a smarter fellow fer knowin' your old lady's a lousy blighter. A stupid blighter!"

"Stupid blighter…" the other echoed. Even in his despair, the words sounded funny to him.

The older man nodded again, firmer this time. "You just keep sayin' that, and you'll be good to go."

Feeling that this was enough to end their transaction, Pintel turned and calmly walked away. The boy watched him go, reflecting deeply on the strange piece of advice that he'd just been given. Then, after only a second's hesitation, he followed after the man.

They went on this way for about a minute, the leader trudging along, unaware of his follower, until Pintel was seized by a strange intuition that told him he wasn't alone. Sure enough, he turned around an instant later and found the ogling child trailing directly behind him.

"What the bloody 'ell are _you_ doin'?"

The boy lowered his head timidly at this unfriendly greeting.

"Well?" the man demanded stormily.

"I don't know where t'go."

Pintel narrowed his eyes, studying the youngster further. "…What's your name, son?"

No answer.

"You know? Your name? What that blighter used to call you when she were around?"

The kid lifted his head. "Well…she sorta gave me a couple names."

"Like what?"

The younger one shrugged. "Sometimes she'd call me 'Kid,' or 'Boy,' an' sometimes she'd call me 'Lad.'"

Pintel shook his head impatiently. "No, no, no, those ain't names yeh li'l nitwit! Wot she call you besides all that?"

Again, there was no answer, and the grimy little face went blank. The older man took note of this.

"She even call yeh anything else?" he asked oddly.

"…I guess not," was the boy's sheepish reply.

The pirate frowned just then. No name? He could see that there was no lie in those bulging eyes; Rebecca hadn't even bothered giving her own son an identity. True enough, Pintel had never particularly liked his own name, but the idea of not having one at all was something unheard of. This poor stupid lad, with no word to call himself, probably hadn't felt a single scrap of dignity in his entire life. And somehow, Robert Pintel bitterly felt that this needed to be rectified.

"She mention yer old man's name at all?"

The youngster paused in thought for a moment, then bobbed his head yes.

"Aye…she fink e's name were Ragetti. Sumfin' Ragetti… no first name…"

"Then I says that makes you a Ragetti too," Pintel pointed out. "So you _do_ gots a last name, at least."

The boy gawked up at him, utterly surprised.

That was it. For the lad, those words were the last thing he'd needed to hear to make up his mind. He had barely known this strange man for more than a few minutes, but in those few astounding minutes, the man had treated him like no other person ever had. He'd addressed him. He'd given him advice. And now he had given him a name.

So when the pirate turned and walked away a third time, the boy, now Ragetti, scurried after him without any hesitation at all.

Even then, Pintel still tried to childishly avoid him; when he heard the footsteps approaching, he began walking faster and strained to keep himself from glancing over his shoulder. Pretty soon, though, the speed walking turned to running, and when this also failed to put distance between him and the pest, he whirled clumsily around and bid a final farewell to his dying patience.

"_Oh, will you get away from me you mangy li'l runt!_"

Ragetti shrank back. "Where should I go?"

"I don't know!" Pintel growled. "Go site-seein'! Go climb in a barrel or run around wif the dogs for all I cares!"

But the lad, hunched almost in half, didn't budge. "I already done me a good bit a' that," he said flatly. "Runnin' around w'the dogs..."

Pintel straightened himself to his full height. "Well, I don't plan to have any more fleas on me than the ones that're already there, so why don't you run around wif 'em some more?"

"I jus' figure we gots more in common than they does."

"Oh? An' how you figure that?"

Ragetti shied away a little. "Well…we bof doesn't like stupid blighters."

If it hadn't been nine o'clock at night, Pintel would have told him off further, but the fact remained that he'd been slaving away on a ship bound for Tortuga for two days now, and he was just too tired to argue any more. He'd already tried three times to leave this boy behind, and he had a feeling now that he was never going to get rid of him tonight.

He squared his jaw. "Fine," he grumbled, angrily giving in. With that, he stomped away, defeated, disappearing into the tavern at his right.

Grinning, Ragetti hurried in after him.

----------------------------------------------------

There were many remedies for travel fatigue, and in over two decades of pirating, Pintel had learned that no doctor's prescription could ever do the job quite as quickly or entirely as that one medicine that all buccaneers turned to in their times of need: rum.

"Oi, mate!" he shouted to the bartender over the surrounding uproar. "Gimme a pint!"

A moment later, a sloppy, overflowing mug of the brown beverage was thrust into his hand in exchange for a bronze coin. Letting his heavy shoulders slack, Pintel leaned forward over the bar and lifted his brew to let the healing commence.

"Arrr!"

WHACK!

He jerked his head to the left just in time to witness the man seated beside him all but topple off of his wooden stool, then spring to his bare feet and return the blow that he'd received in the back of his head. The man's opponent, clearly looking for a fight, bared his teeth as he grabbed the first fellow by his shirt collar and yanked him away from the counter. Without a word, their fistfight staggered off into the rowdy crowd, leaving the unlucky man's drink sitting at the bar.

Pintel raised a single shaggy eyebrow as he observed the lonely mug. "Guess 'e won't be needin' this, then." Calmly, he reached over and took the abandoned rum for himself. A free one.

No sooner had he done this than Ragetti had spotted him, and eagerly climbed up onto the now empty stool beside Pintel. The youngster's eyes drifted immediately to the half-finished mug in front of him.

"What's 'at?" he asked inquisitively.

"It's rum," the other mumbled back.

Ragetti looked up at him cautiously. "What d'you do wif it?"

Pintel wasn't even looking at him anymore. "Yeh drink it."

There was a pause in the conversation, and Ragetti slowly took the mug by the handle. Then with a wary sniff at the draft, he lifted it to his lips and took a huge swig, expecting it to taste like regular water. Instead, he received a nasty surprise from the bitter, strong brew in his throat, and he immediately lurched forward coughing and gagging loudly.

Pintel watched this almost comical scene silently through the corner of his eye, then shifted his glance ahead, indifferent.

"Well yeh better get used to it," he muttered. "'Cause _I_ drink it."

--

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(A much longer chapter than I expected, but it's a pretty important one. I just couldn't resist throwing in that little bit in the bar at the end!)


	4. Golden Opportunities

(Disclaimer: not mine)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

The rest of that evening was a blur in Pintel's mind. The last thing that he remembered clearly was sitting at the bar, swilling down what had to have been his fourth pint, and then stumbling out of the tavern when he saw that he had no more money. He couldn't recall whether or not Ragetti had followed him, but he knew that either way, he hadn't been terribly concerned about the matter.

The next morning, he woke to the feeling of hard cobblestone underneath his back and the smell of mildew and manure wafting into his nostrils. Pintel grimaced at these unpleasant sensations, still a few minutes away from regaining full consciousness. He must have fallen asleep on the ground just outside the tavern.

It was just then that his sense of hearing kicked back in, and the dazed pirate became aware of an awful racket blaring on only a short distance away from where he lay. It was a strange mix of barking sounds, as if two mangy dogs were carrying on just off to his right. Grunting to himself, Pintel slowly sat up and lifted his heavy eyelids. And then just like that, he was wide-awake and staring at the source of the noise with a jolting confusion.

Apparently, his guess had only been half right.

"What the devil are you doin'?"

Ragetti ceased his yapping at that instant and spun around to greet Pintel with an ear-to-ear grin. "I'm helpin' 'im dig a hole," he answered logically, pointing at the scruffy Irish terrier pawing into the ground beside him.

"I can _see_ that, yeh bloody fool!" the older man snarled back. "I meant _why're_ yeh doin' it?"

The boy seemed unfazed by this unfriendly disposition. "So 'e can burry 'is bone," he replied, then held up the sticky brown-tinted chew toy. "'E don't want the other dogs takin' it from 'im."

Pintel was about to say something sarcastic about buried treasure in response to this, but he suddenly forgot his comment as Ragetti turned his attention back to the dog and their pathetic hole and resumed barking stupidly.

"_Woof woof! Woof!_" And then the kid let his tongue flop out of his mouth and began panting loudly as he clawed wildly at the dirt.

Pintel twisted his face at the ridiculous sight. "Stop that!" he shouted, and—unable to think of anything else—grabbed a discarded rum mug that was lying nearby and lobbed it at the barking duo. The metal mug landed with a heavy _clump_ right in the measly hole, and the two diggers recoiled and stared mutely up at Pintel in unison.

The man staggered to his feet as he glared back down at the boy. "Yeh look like a stupid idiot, yeh stupid idiot!" he shouted, then stopped when he realized just how redundant he'd been.

Curious about this odd new fellow, the dog resumed wagging its long tail and barked excitedly. Pintel responded by turning his pointed gaze to the brownish-gold animal then.

"Now don't _you_ get 'im started up again!" he yelled.

At that instant, the dog decided either that it didn't like Pintel or that its bone just wasn't worth all this trouble, and it turned tail and calmly trotted away down the dirt pathway.

Ragetti sprang back to life just then as he witnessed the unexpected departure.

"Oi, wait a second!" he called anxiously after the slim terrier. "_Woof! Woof!_"

But the animal had already disappeared around the rear corner of the tavern, resolute and unresponsive to the calls.

Ragetti frowned and glanced back down at their shallow pit. "He left 'is bone b'hind…" he mumbled to no one in particular, then after a momentary pause, continued his digging. He was going to do the dog a favor.

Pintel growled, and was prepared to launch into another tirade at the boy's stupidity, but he suddenly fell silent. Ragetti was completely engrossed in his idiotic task, oblivious to everything surrounding him as he hunched over his deepening hole. The older man smirked to himself. That mutt had just given him the golden opportunity that he'd been waiting for.

Keeping a wary eye on the ten-year-old, Pintel slowly turned away and crept off towards the front corner of the tavern.

But just at that second, Ragetti lifted his head to grin at Pintel again, and saw that the pirate was walking away. He immediately started to get up to follow, but remembered his job of burying the bone, and hesitated for a second in his childish conflict. Finally, he picked up the bone again and hurried after the other man.

Pintel hadn't gotten more than a meter from the hole before he heard those little footsteps trailing behind him. He turned slightly to see Ragetti scampering up to him, and sighed loudly in frustration as he let his shoulders sag.

Another failed attempt.

"I fink I seen 'at dog b'fore," the boy said as they walked on, mostly thinking aloud. "Li'l brownish one, looked just like 'im, come up to me the other day when me mum was makin' me stand outside this same tavern. Didn't have a bone then, though."

Pintel could only assume that the boy was referring to the dog in his last comment. At that moment, however, a piece of their conversation from the previous evening flickered back into his thoughts, and the peculiar question was pushed aside. Ragetti had mentioned something about dogs last night too.

Somewhat reluctantly, he spoke. "So you been gettin' to know all the other mutts on this rock while your old lady was lockin' yeh out?"

Ragetti nodded his dopey head. "Yeah. I fink they likes me!"

"Well 'at's someone at least," Pintel grumbled to himself. "Your old lady lock y'out a lot?"

The lad shrugged. "Aye, I guess. She don't like me goin' in places wif 'er. Says it don't look good, 'er 'avin' a kid around."

The older man actually let out a dry laugh at this. "I bet it wouldn't," he said knowingly.

Ragetti looked up at him oddly then. "Why don't ye' likes 'er, anyway?" he asked. There was no trace of accusation in his voice, Pintel noticed; only innocent curiosity. "What she done to you?"

The older pirate stopped in his tracks and glared down at the boy—the boy who'd been dumped in his care solely out of spite. "What she done to me?" he echoed impatiently. He hunched his back slightly, bringing his face a little closer to Ragetti's as he set the notorious scene that had plagued him for nearly twelve years.

"Little while ago, before you was ever around, I had me own boat—small, one-man fishin' boat—an' I came to Tortuga to visit that li'l whore. Now, she'd been a louse to me b'fore all this, but I was still doin' her the favor a' bringin' her some coins 'cause she were my sister, and she was needin' the money. Yeh hear me? I was doin' 'er a favor!

"But for whatever filthy reason, she decided that that weren't good enough for 'er, and yeh know what she did then?"

Ragetti shook his head.

Pintel sneered. "She got some bloody chap she met t'loot me boat in the middle a' the night while I was winkin' out by the dock! I wakes up the next mornin', and the whole bloody fing's _gone_! The whole boat! Now, I don't know exactly wot happened that night, but I knows fer a fact that she were behind it. Know how I knows? Well I'll tell yeh how! I caught a glimpse of that lousy rat pointin' that fellow down the dock b'fore I was completely out. I saw her tellin' 'im what to do! She 'elped 'im rob me flat!_ That's_ wot she done to me!"

This said, he stood up straight again and stormed off with two white-knuckled fists, glowering into the distance. He was lost in his own fiery thoughts now.

Ragetti kept in step behind Pintel, laughing faintly as he dwelled on the unusual story.

"Boat was gone…" he murmured. The boy grinned to himself just then. "Sounds like me mum were a right old pirate!"

That did it.

Pintel whirled on the boy, his eyes burning black and his face throbbing red with absolute rage, and his temper finally exploded.

"Don't you _ever, EVER_ be comparin' that filthy, good-for-nothin' whore to a pirate, you stupid, scrawny li'l maggot! I outta kick your skinny ass _straight out to the next sea port_ for sayin' that! You bloody hear me?"

Ragetti immediately recoiled from the startling outburst, shrinking back and lowering his head to stare steadfastly at the ground. His rail-thin legs were rattling together in pure terror, and he was clutching the dog bone to his narrow chest with a death grip. He was an utterly pathetic sight to behold.

Pintel scowled down at the lad when his heated reprimand reached its end, observing this miserable display of submission with cold repulsion.

_Just like a dog wif 'is tail between 'is legs_, he thought disgustedly. His eyes strayed down to the bone in those shaky little hands just then, and after a second's pause, he reached out, snatching the grimy object out of Ragetti's grasp, and hurled it away over his shoulder.

"An' stop actin' like a dog!" he added crossly. He suddenly wrinkled his nose at the cowering boy. "It's bad enough yeh smell like one!" And with that, he turned and walked away once more.

But even as he'd reduced that boy to a trembling lump in the dirt with his explosive warning, Pintel grudgingly realized—with a boiling hatred that exceeded even his limitless intolerance for Ragetti—that he couldn't think of a single difference between himself and his backstabbing sister. He might have referred to that pint-sized fishing vessel as _his_ boat, but the truth be told, it hadn't belonged to him any more than it'd belonged to Rebecca's filthy business partner; Pintel had stolen it himself from a sea port in Haiti just months before. He was no better…

He growled to himself as he shoved the thought aside, then wrenched open the front door of the tavern.

Ragetti didn't follow him inside right away; instead, the boy stayed rooted in his place for several seconds, temporarily locked in a tugging debate. He hadn't expected such a harsh response from the older man—his mother had certainly never acknowledged him long enough to scold him like that—and Pintel's rant had shaken him up quite a bit. But even then, he couldn't forget the other words that the strange fellow had given him on their first meeting.

Advice and a name. That was what Pintel had given him. He'd told Ragetti that he was going to be just fine without his mother, and the boy had believed him somehow. And then the man had given him an identity, the name Ragetti, and somehow, the boy liked that as well. And Pintel's comment about his canine odor was actually kind of funny, now that he thought about it out of context. Maybe the man hadn't meant anything at all by yelling at him…

More resolute than ever—and again laughing to himself—Ragetti dashed inside the tavern after his gruff companion.

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Pintel was never good at holding onto his money. Fortunately, he was able to counter this lack of rationing with a sharp knack for spotting new plunder-earning opportunities. And right now, he knew that his next opportunity was waiting for him somewhere inside that tavern. The only way for a pirate to profit from his craft was by joining a ship's crew.

And any ship captain who'd so much as heard of the word "pirate" knew that wherever there was rum, a crew would be found.

Stumbling around the array of tables and other groggy pirates, Pintel craned his neck and strained his ears to listen for the two words that would confirm there was another job prospect in the building. After only a minute, he heard them ring out clear as a dinner bell from his far left.

"Sign here."

He swung his head around to follow the level, authoritative sounding voice, and sure enough, caught sight of a slim-formed commander seated calmly at a table by the opposite wall. A broad-shouldered pirate stood across the table from him, hunching down to scratch some distinctive mark onto a yellow piece of parchment that the captain had placed in front of him—the crew list.

Grinning to himself with triumph, Pintel turned and made his way over to the hopeful scene.

Even from across the tavern, he could see that this commander was no ordinary cutlass-swinging sea rat who fancied calling himself an authority figure; rather, he presented himself as a proper Englishman with a distinguishing blue raincoat and sharp-looking tri-cornered hat. He appeared to be only a few years older than Pintel, maybe forty-three, and his dark hair was pulled back into an orderly ponytail that hung down his straight back. The man looked as much at home in this splintery building as a cactus would look growing in the middle of an iceberg.

Keenly, Pintel approached the table.

"You roundin' yerself up a crew, sir?" he asked.

The Englishman eyed him stiffly. "It would seem I am," he replied.

Pintel took that for a yes. "Well then, sign me up for it, Cap'n!"

The other man showed no reaction to the zealous comment. "And what qualifications do you have that would convince me to do so?"

Pintel stopped, taken back by the question. "Wot?"

"What can you do?" the Englishman rephrased impatiently.

The stocky pirate hesitated at first, confused by this apparent debriefing. In all his years of practicing this sea-faring profession, not once could he ever recall having to go through an interview to join a crew. What did a Caribbean captain care that his men could do? They wouldn't even be pirates if they didn't know how to handle a weapon!

He thought for a second. "I can swing a sword, shoot a pistol, and fire a cannon."

"Anything else?" The clean-shaven captain seemed hardly impressed.

"I can mop a floor too," Pintel added reluctantly.

This, oddly enough, earned a slight change in the Englishman's facial expression. "How long have you been a pirate?"

"Twenty years, give or take."

The other considered this for a minute, then sharply nodded his head once.

"Very well. My name is Captain Pellinore, and my ship is the Glass Urchin." Then he reached for his quill pen to hand it over to his new recruit.

It was at that exact moment, however, that Ragetti finally arrived onto the scene, scurrying over to stand beside his balding acquaintance. Pintel sent the boy a crooked glance of recognition, ignoring the harmless smile that he was given in turn. Squaring his jaw, he then turned his attention edgily back to Pellinore.

"It looks like I'll be bringin' this li'l lunk head wif me too," he muttered. Ragetti stifled a giggle.

But the Englishman wasn't about to let this awkward child slip through his strict selection process. "That depends," he said. "Does the boy have any sailing experience?"

"It ain't likely."

Pellinore raised his thin eyebrows condescendingly. "You don't know?"

"I only just met the kid," Pintel admitted sheepishly.

The captain frowned. "Do you know if he has any skills that might qualify him for a position on my crew, then?"

Pintel paused in deep thought. "Well…he's kinda good at diggin' 'oles, if that's a service you'll be needin'."

This earned another quiet chuckle from Ragetti.

Pellinore was not nearly as impressed. "It isn't." he replied flatly. "What else can he do?"

Pintel looked down to meet Ragetti's eye. "Wot else can yeh do?" he echoed.

The boy's hands fidgeted as he tried to think. "I dunno," he said finally, shrugging his narrow shoulders.

Pintel shrugged mockingly as he looked back at Pellinore. "'E dunno!"

"Then I have no use for him," the Englishman concluded.

The pirate blinked. "Wot'm I s'posed to do then? 'E won't leave me alone."

"I don't know," Pellinore answered. "But I won't have him on board my ship. You'll either come alone, or not at all."

Pintel snorted to himself. He was faced with a decision now: either join this captain's crew out on the high seas with a guaranteed profit in store, or stay here on Tortuga with a kid who thought he was part mongrel.

He rolled his eyes furtively. "Where do I sign?"

Pellinore nodded once, then pointed to a blank space on the list as he handed the quill to Pintel. "Right here. An 'x' will suffice."

Hiding a wry smile, Pintel took the quill and swiftly scribbled his surname down onto the parchment. It was extremely jumbled and poorly crafted—barely even legible—but it was a signature nonetheless. Evidently, growing up in a relatively civilized settlement had its benefits.

Pellinore couldn't help looking dryly considerate of the unexpected feat, and turned the parchment around to read the name.

"…Welcome aboard, Mr. Pintel," he said routinely. "The Urchin will be setting off in no less than an hour. Be sure to report to the dock before then."

"Aye, Cap'n," Pintel nodded, grinning. Immediately, he turned and walked away from the table, making room for another pirate who was hoping to meet Pellinore's particular requirements. Ragetti, who had been listening to their conversation with only a half-hearted interest, automatically joined the older man in taking leave.

Pintel's head was swarming with thoughts as he pushed open the tavern door and stepped out into the blinding sunlight again. Only one hour until the Glass Urchin set sail.

He would have to make short work of ditching this kid.

--

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For the record, Pintel is by no means good at reading and writing; he only knows just enough to get by, which includes how to write his name.


	5. A New Plan

(Disclaimer: I own nothing)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

For once in his life, Pintel was running out of ideas.

He had gone straight down to the shipyard, with Ragetti still directly in tow, immediately after his meeting with Pellinore in the tavern. Now, the middle-aged pirate was seated drearily atop a keg barrel, watching as his ten-year-old nuisance crouched by one of the docks a few meters away and dropped pebbles into the green waters below him with an endless fascination.

Pintel had tried everything to get this kid out of his hair—telling him off, insulting him, yelling at him, and even flat out running away from him—but not one of those methods had proven itself to be successful. Despite his frustration, the older man had to grudgingly admit that he'd never seen such a stubborn child. And so, he had decided to fall back on one last plan: simply go down to the docks, wait out the hour, and try to lose him in the crowd just long enough to get on board the Glass Urchin. It was a lousy idea, half-thought-out and overly desperate, but it was all Pintel could piece together on such short notice.

Ragetti jerked back and snickered just then as one particularly large pebble hit the water with a loud _splunk_, splashing him slightly in the process. He couldn't take his bulging eyes off of the ripples forming beneath him; there was something about those thin, simple rings that commanded his attention, ordering him to watch them as they slowly grew and drifted away. It was like they had put him in a trance. Pintel couldn't help thinking just how easy it would be to walk up to that little dolt and tip him right over the edge of the dock. _That_ would certainly make a considerable splash.

He furrowed his brow and stared down at the ground.

What if this plan didn't work either? What if he couldn't get rid of Ragetti in time? What would he do then? Pintel's mind was swimming with these questions, and the more he thought of them, the more it became clear that he had no answer for any of them. The boy had plainly decided that he liked the pirate, even though that liking was anything but mutual. The question, however, was _why_ did he like him? Why wouldn't this idiot take a hint and just go away?

Pintel sighed with frustration as the answer hit him in a sickening wave. This kid had no one else to rely on, no one else to look to for guidance. All his life, he'd been ignored and neglected by his filthy mother, and now he'd finally found somebody who not only understood what he'd been through, but was also more or less willing to talk to him. Ragetti had achieved some sort of fulfillment from their encounter yesterday.

He shouldn't have told him his name. Pintel realized now that that had been his biggest mistake. He should have just left the lad alone with his handful of nicknames and kept on walking. Or better yet, he should have just walked away when he'd first meant to, right after his snide good-bye. Yes. That had been his mistake: caring enough to even acknowledge him. Pintel had felt one moment of sympathy, and as a result, he was now stuck with this boy.

But just then, another thought passed through his head, and he glanced over at Ragetti again.

Stuck with him. That was exactly how Rebecca had felt about the kid. She had seen her own son as nothing but a burden, and for ten years, she'd looked for any excuse to keep him away from her. And now, she had run off and completely deserted him, all for her own benefit.

And he, Robert Pintel, was trying to do the exact same thing.

His eyes suddenly grew wide as this dawned on him, and he found himself focusing even more intently on Ragetti. He was trying to desert him, just like Rebecca…

…But…no! He wasn't anything like his sister. Even if they _did_ both play some part in stealing a lousy boat at one point in time, that didn't mean they were the same person! Rebecca had double-crossed him! She'd taken someone who'd trusted her—her own _brother_—and gone behind his back just to earn some extra coins! And now, she had abandoned her own son, just to make things easier for herself. She was nothing but a two-bit, back-stabbing louse!

Ragetti seemed to notice just then that something was weighing heavily on Pintel's mind, and he suddenly realized that he was crouching on the dock in a very dog-like position. Remembering that he wasn't supposed to act like a dog anymore, he quickly sat up straight and dangled his skinny legs awkwardly over the side. He was an obedient boy.

Pintel squared his jaw and clenched his fingers tightly around the rim of the keg barrel.

Fine. He wouldn't try to lose the kid in the crowd. Robert Pintel wasn't going to abandon a ten-year-old for his own convenience. He would look after Ragetti—just to prove that he _was_ better than his miserable sister. He was _better_!

His mind now made up, he got up from his seat and eyed the other firmly.

"Oi, kid!"

Ragetti jumped slightly in surprise. The older man waved his arm sharply. "Get over 'ere!"

As the youngster complied, Pintel began looking around in thought. Even if it meant satisfying his begrudged ego, he was far from willing to give up his spot on the Glass Urchin's crew. He had a feeling that someone as well-to-do looking as Pellinore did had some sixth sense that would lead to a handsome profit—otherwise, he wouldn't be so well-to-do looking, would he? There had to be some way that he could bring Ragetti onto that ship with him. But how?

The answer appeared to Pintel in the form of an old burlap sack, stuffed with some unknown cargo and leaning against a support post on the next dock.

And then he got an idea.

Locking his eyes onto that sack, he motioned to Ragetti a second time.

"Follow me."

----------------------------------------------

Pintel had marched straight over to that dock and snatched up the bag without a moment's thought. Despite its overstuffed appearance, he'd actually found the sack to be rather light; this was all the more convenient for the pirate, as he didn't want the owner of the load turning around at any second and spotting this unfolding theft. The faster Pintel could run away with the sack, the better. And he'd done so very quickly, scurrying off of the dock and ducking out of sight with Ragetti behind the first building he could find.

A sudden anxiousness gripped the man as he turned the burlap bag upside-down, dumping its contents—a collection of half-empty jars and cans—onto the ground in a scattered heap.

"Now, this should work," he explained to Ragetti, "as long as you keep yer mouf shut."

Then he turned to face the boy, holding the open sack out in front of him. "Get in."

Ragetti looked up at the older fellow, dumbstruck. "What?"

"I said get in, yeh li'l fool!" Pintel snapped. "Into the sack!"

The youngster swallowed hard, hesitated, then did as he was told and raised one leg to step into the yawning mouth of the bag. Once he had both feet in, Pintel placed a wide hand on the top of Ragetti's head and pushed him down into a squatting position inside the sack. Then he held the mouth of the sack shut and hoisted his load off the ground to bring it to eye-level. The kid was heavier than the previous load, but not by much.

"Now listen t'me," Pintel said harshly. "I'm sneakin' yeh on board. You don't talk, you don't move, you don't even _think_ until I says yeh can. Yeh 'ear me?"

"Aye," Ragetti's voice mumbled from inside the sack.

"I said no talkin'!" the other growled, and he rattled the bag sharply as a further warning. He had failed to see the humor in this exchange. "Now shut up!"

This said, Pintel slung his live cargo over his shoulder and made his way back to the docks with as much casualness as he could muster.

Minutes passed, and he found himself wandering aimlessly about the seaport with his load. Somehow, in all the inner conflict that had ensued before, Pintel had managed to overlook one small but crucial detail: of all the ships docked on this side of Tortuga, he had no idea which one was Pellinore's.

He went on with his search for at least ten more minutes, until his manly pride finally caved in and he admitted that this method wasn't going to work. Growling under his breath, he came to a stop and reluctantly glanced around in search of someone to ask.

Off to his right, Pintel spotted two men striding along in his direction, together bearing a long, heavy-looking wooden crate on their left shoulders. The first man, holding up the front end, was a tall fellow, about Pintel's age, with a short black beard and a bright green bandana tied around his shaggy head. The other, shouldering the back end of the crate, was a younger, clean-shaven, slender man whose rust-colored dreadlocks were pulled back in a tight ponytail. Had it not been for his prominent brow and seafarer's garb, Pintel might have mistaken him for a woman.

Adjusting his grip on his sack, the balding fellow turned to face them as they began passing by.

"Oi mates!" he called out. Both of their heads snapped around to look at him, but neither one ever stopped walking.

"What?" the bearded one asked calmly.

"Which one o' these ships be the Glass Urchin?"

"You're lookin' at it!" the dreadlocked man answered in a cheeky tone. He had a thick Irish accent.

Pintel followed their direction in response, and his eyes suddenly grew wide.

Bobbing unsteadily in the Tortuga harbor, the Urchin has an utterly horrendous sight. Splintering where it wasn't rotting, the pint-sized vessel sported a ratty set of sails and a thin crust of barnacles on its hull, as could be seen when the tiny surrounding waves dropped down momentarily. Pintel had never seen such a worthless looking ship.

He glanced over at the departing duo again. "Really?" he asked, puzzled. _This_ was Pellinore's ship?

"Aye," the bearded man in the bandana called back. "She don't look like much on the outside, mate, but she's a Spanish galleon on the inside."

"It ain't the inside that's gonna keep us afloat," Pintel pointed out brusquely.

"Well, the captain ain't nearly as picky with his ships as he is with his crew," the young Irish man commented wryly. "I guess a man can't have all of his sense."

"_Wood_," the bearded fellow cut him off firmly. The other immediately fell silent. There must have been some grave secret meaning behind that word, to bring his unruly talk to such an abrupt end. Without another word to their questioner, the two proceeded up the ramp to the Urchin's deck.

Pintel looked the ship up and down once more before he followed them on board.

--------------------------------------------------

True enough, the Urchin's interior was a far cry from a Spanish galleon, but that first pirate hadn't exaggerated entirely. Once inside the rickety old vessel, even the most experienced buccaneer would have thought he'd stepped onto a regular, well-maintained ship. Perhaps Captain Pellinore had been willing to overlook the unsightly outside, as long as he didn't have to stare at it. Either that, or the Glass Urchin was a much more sea-worthy craft than it appeared to be. Pintel wasn't sure.

But he gave it little thought as he went below deck and into the crew's quarters. He was too busy trying not to draw any attention to himself, or more importantly, the sack slung over his shoulder. So far, Ragetti had kept quiet, and nobody had tried to take the bag away or open it. He just hoped that this lucky streak wouldn't suddenly wear out on him, as there were three other crewmen unloading supplies in that same room.

Pintel came to a wary stop in front of some gunpowder barrels, just a few meters away from the four rows of hammocks. Carefully, he placed his burden on top of one of the kegs, and then—after making sure that no eyes were on him—promptly but sneakily knocked it off with a sharp nudge of his elbow. The sack hit the ground with a heavy thump, now out of sight between the barrels and the wall, and Ragetti instinctively let out a startled and painful squeak.

The crewman standing closest to them turned around suddenly at the sound and stared at Pintel, silently questioning him.

Trying to avoid any further inquiry, Pintel put on his own puzzled expression and quickly leaned over the barrels to glance down. He stood back up straight and jabbed his thumb at the hiding space.

"Rat," he explained dismissingly. The other man raised his eyebrows with mild interest, then returned to his work.

Seconds later, the sound of heavy boots stomping down the creaky wooden steps brought an end to all the activity, and together, Pintel and the other three men looked over to see the silhouette of an older buccaneer come to a stop in the entranceway. The man's nastily scarred face was fixed in a permanently grim expression.

"Yeh can get back to yer unpacking later, gents," he growled. "The captains says we be casting off now."

Then he turned and stomped back up the steps to the deck, hastily accompanied by the four. Before he races off to join his fellow crewmembers, however, Pintel stopped to lean over the three gunpowder barrels and glare down at the twitching sack.

"Stay in there," he hissed, then hurried off.

This was going to be an interesting voyage indeed.

--


	6. The Urchin's Crew

(Disclaimer: I do not own Pintel and Ragetti, or Pirates of the Caribbean. I do own everything else though.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

For the rest of that day, the two saw very little of each other. Although Pintel had given him permission to wander around below deck all he wanted, Ragetti's skittish nerves kept him rooted behind those powder barrels for countless hours. The grant had come with a catch: if he did decide to leave his hiding place, he would have to keep another one in sight at all times, in the event that one of the other crewmen showed up.

"Believe me," Pintel had hissed to the jittery waif shortly after the _Glass Urchin_ had cast off from Tortuga. "I know these sort of chaps. You don't wanna chance makin' 'em mad." The older pirate had certainly never known a buccaneer crew to take very kindly to stowaways—more rats to have to split profit with. "And you can 'magine for yerself what they might do to a sneakin' runt like you if they ever found one."

In addition to this unpleasant thought, Ragetti also realized that he wasn't familiar enough with the inside of this ship to even know if there _were_ other hiding places for him to dive behind, so in short, he felt it best to just stay put until he was told otherwise. Besides, he was easily amused; Ragetti would not grow bored with his own simple thoughts.

And while the boy spent the day snickering at the sound of lapping waves and creaking wood, Pintel was kept busy above deck, alongside the fourteen other gents that made up Pellinore's crew.

"Pick yer pace up yeh lazy slogs!" roared the first mate Winchcomb, the same scar faced fellow who had ordered the crew up on deck for cast-off. He slashed at the air with his cutlass for emphasis. "Or we'll be driftin' right back to the turtle island where this filthy bucket belongs!"

Pintel yelped and tugged harder on the sail line in his hands. In less than two hours of knowing him, he'd become witlessly terrified of Winchcomb; the grizzled first mate was mad and senile in his aging years, and his lifelong experience with naval battles had taught him to love his sword a little too much. Still, the wild sailor was right. The _Glass Urchin _was unbearably slow, and its speed had only grown worse when the wind started moving against the vessel.

This had been completely unacceptable for Pellinore, and he'd ordered four crewmen to take down the sails until the stubborn breezes let up. Pintel was one of those four, along with a scruffy, brown-haired fellow named Rubeus Morgan ("Rub" for short) and the two pirates that Pintel had spoken to before boarding the _Urchin_. Their names were Horace Yager, the black-bearded man with his green bandana, and Jonathan Wood, the dreadlocked Irishman. They were as mismatched-looking a foursome as could have been seen on that ship, but their minds thought as one, and all four were beginning to wish their captain had overlooked them for this task.

"Pull harder!" Pintel shouted. The wind was whipping his hair about in all directions, nearly blinding him from his work, and his shoulders were ready to snap from the strain. What had started as a simple chore had quickly grown into an all-out tug-of-war with the boom, and the wooden mechanism was winning.

"I'm pullin' the rope as much as I bloody can!" Rub shouted back through his equally airborne beard. "Can't see a damn thing!"

"Well I can't hear a damn thing!" Wood snapped at them. "Shut up!"

"Focus, mates!" Yager called out louder. "We've still got another halfway to bring her down!"

Pintel cringed, but stubbornly ignored the pain shooting up his arms as he tightened his grip on the rope.

"Where'd these crazy winds come from anyways?" Rub shouted to nobody in particular. "The air was corpse-still not a few minutes ago!"

"Aye!" Yager nodded. "Nature's got herself a sense of humor something fierce!"

A second later, they all discovered just how fierce that sense of humor really was.

_WHOOSH!_

Just as abruptly as it'd started, that powerful wind shifted in direction, and the half lowered sails suddenly billowed forward once again. Just below them, the boom had a similar reaction to this sudden adjustment.

Wood was the first to see it coming. "Watch out!" he cried, and quickly let go of the rope. Hearing his warning, Yager and Rub both followed suit.

Pintel, however, did not.

Naturally, none of the four had been dim enough to stand directly in the boom's path, but when that wooden pole swung to the right, it created a whiplash effect that sent the balding man at the end of the line flying after it. Pintel shrieked as he was yanked off his feet and plowed into a fifth crewman who'd been mopping the deck a seemingly safe distance away. Together, the two of them crashed to the floor in a confused heap, knocking over the grimy mop bucket as they did so. Water splattered everywhere.

Yager, Wood, and Rub all erupted in laughter.

"Looks like _you_ weren't the one doin' the pullin' at all, mate!" Rub hooted, clutching his sides as he doubled over.

"Yeah! _She_ pulled _you!_" Wood added just as hysterically. He looked about ready to topple over onto the deck in his cackling fit.

Pintel rebutted by snatching up the discarded mop and hurling it clumsily at the trio. The next instant, the unfortunate fifth man pinned under him reached boiling point and shoved the shorter pirate off and face-first into a puddle.

And then Pellinore voiced his opinion.

"_Sailors!_" he reprimanded from his place at the wheel. Yager, Wood, and Rub quickly stood up and tried to stifle their snickering.

The captain didn't share their amusement. "What's the meaning of this nonsense?" he demanded sharply.

"This _what_?" Wood asked. He was sending the other man an awkward but pointed sideways glare.

Yager, on the other hand, straightened himself up properly. "There was a little mishap with the boom, Captain," he answered with respect.

Pellinore scowled inwardly. "Well a little mishap doesn't call for such an enormous uproar. I intend to reach our destination in the next two days, and I will _not_ tolerate such raucous, barbaric insolence on board my ship! I don't give payment to animals, gentlemen, and you'll do well to remember that! Now get up, cease your foolishness, and keep this vessel moving in the right direction!"

Wood's scowl was not so well hidden, and Rub decided to growl back his displeasure.

"She's already movin' in the right direction! The wind's changed back!"

Pellinore eyed him steadily. "Do not try my patience, Mr. Morgan… or I may just ask Mr. Winchcomb to settle our discord in whatever way he sees fit."

With one glare from the first mate, Rub was silenced. That was the end of that.

Yager went up to the soaking wet Pintel then and offered a hand to help him up. The solemn expressing on his bearded face seemed apologetic enough, but Pintel would have no part of it. His pride had been dampened quite enough—literally, in fact—and with a sneer, he shrugged his shoulder around the hand and lifted himself up gracelessly. Then the four pirates returned to their work with much less enthusiasm than before.

"How about him?" Wood commented with a look to Yager. "Thinks he's so high and mighty, that captain, usin' all his big words and threats!"

"He's just trying to lay down an order," Yager responded flatly. He began pulling on the other rope now, raising the sails once more. "All captains have to."

"Not like this sod is!" Wood argued back. "_He's_ actin' more like a big-headed red suit!"

"Aye!" Rub chimed in, digging his nails into the rope. "Ain't never 'ad no _pirate_ cap'n call me Morgan b'fore!"

Wood lowered his head shiftily and glanced over at Pellinore. "I don't trust him," he mumbled.

Yager and Pintel both looked up at the young redhead disapprovingly. The bandana-clad man stared at his friend in silence for a second, then spoke up with a hint of warning in his tone.

"What, 'cause he scolded you for laughing too much?"

"No!" Wood snapped. "Just think about it. He asks us all these stupid questions b'fore he lets us join his crew. He acts so great and proper, and then he gets himself this piece o' rubbish to call his ship, like it were the only thing he could find in an hour. And then, he says we're goin' to Pilón, Cuba, and he wants to get there as soon as possible. There's nothin' in Pilón that's worth rushin' to! Least not anythin' you can't find at every other buccaneer settlement in the Caribbean!"

Pintel felt an angry lump suddenly rise in his throat. What exactly was this uppity little she-man getting at?

Wood's speech didn't seem to sit very well with Yager either.

"I'd want to get to land as soon as possible too, if I were him," he said back reasonably. "Captain Pellinore's probably set his eye on finding a better ship in Pilón. He _is_ a proper man, way I sees it, and when he wants a ship that better suits him, he knows where to get it."

"Well if he's such a proper man," Wood pointed out snidely, "What's he doin' with us? Huh? And who's to say he couldn't've found a good enough ship in Tortuga? Why's he _really_ so set on getting' to this other place?"

"Because it's _there_," Yager answered firmly. His patience was starting to chip; Pintel could tell. "It's there, and it's a step ahead of the port we left."

He looked over at Rub too. "That's all. Pellinore's given us no reason to mistrust him, so the only thing we _can_ do is trust him for now."

"And how long is 'for now' gonna be, Yager? 'Til he asks his pal Winchcomb to lop our heads off for not polishin' our swords well enough? Then what?"

"Don't get those kinds of ideas in your head, Wood."

"He's definitely up to something," the Irishman said adamantly. "And I says we do somethin' about it!"

Pintel jumped in at that. "Oi!" he protested. "'E's our ticket to makin' some decent money, 'e is. A man wif his sorta plans is bound t'know what 'e's doin'. _I_ says 'e's a cap'n we _can_ rely on!"

Wood curled his lip. "Yeah you would, wouldn't you? Slow little lightweight like you probably always kisses up to the top fellow to save your lousy skin!"

"Now _that's_ enough!" Yager shouted, throwing down his rope. He stepped closer to Wood, sending him a stiffening glare. "Even if you_ did _manage to hold off insulting every chap who disagrees with you," he hissed, "…You will not be rallying up a mutiny on this ship!"

Wood glared back at him, surprised but undaunted. "He _is_ up to something, Yager. I just don't know what yet."

Yager nodded patronizingly. "Well," he said, "While you're figuring it out, how's about running off and finding us an extra length of rope for these sails?"

Green eyes glowered at him, then Wood turned with a bounce of his dreadlocks and was gone. Pintel watched the young man leave.

Rub chuckled to himself. "Yer mate there's got a real mouf on 'im," he commented to Yager. "Mighty brave of 'im t'be talkin' 'bout the cap'n like that. …Either that or mighty stupid."

Yager looked down just then, and a curious sadness suddenly gripped his features. He seemed to be lost in thought, as if dwelling on painful memories that had brought him to this place in time. Finally, after a moment had passed, he returned to his work and picked up his portion of the rope again.

"I'd rather not say," he murmured.

-------------------------------------

For Pintel, the rest of that afternoon had been uneventful. He did everything he was told to do, hoisting the sails and scrubbing the decks, and he was careful to keep his head low and out of Winchcomb's sight. He felt that as long as he kept this up, no more trouble would cross paths with him, and so far, this theory had held tight.

But the evening would not be so calm.

Dinner time on board the Glass Urchin unfolded the same way it would on any ship. The crew gathered below deck in the dining hall, a stuffy little room just a few steps away from their sleeping quarters, and they crowded onto the two long benches that stood on either side of the table. The ship's cook, a short lanky Indian man nicknamed Owl Eyes, had set out a dozen or so wooden plates and forks, along with some bowls of foul-looking gruel and hardtack rolls.

The finer dishes had been reserved for the captain, who was waiting with his first mate to be served in his cabin. And so the exotic little cook had gone above deck, temporarily leaving his fellow crewmen behind with their dinner.

"'Ey Ashby," the man beside Pintel called across the table. His name was Cormac, and he was the very same man whose mopping had been painfully interrupted by the boom mishap earlier that day. It seemed clear from his tightly knitted eyebrows that he hadn't quite forgiven anyone for causing the incident. "Gimme one of 'em rolls, will ye mate?"

The pirate Ashby blinked up from his meal and twisted his face into a confused expression. "Yeh want _me_ t'give yeh one?" he echoed with a full mouth, sounding like Cormac's request had been the daftest thing he'd ever heard. "But the bowl's sittin' closer to _you!_"

"It is not!" Cormac fired back, "Now pass it over 'ere!"

"Can't; I'm eatin'. Get it yerself," Ashby replied, unconcerned.

The first man sneered. "You lazy little…" then he decided to let his actions speak for him. Cormac jabbed his fork into his gruel, stabbing a large hunk of discolored meat, and flung the morsel forcefully across the table. Ashby jerked back, startled by the unexpected move, then complied angrily.

"You want a roll?" he blasted. "Here!" Then throwing down his fork, he reached out for the large bowl, picked it up in both of his hands—and promptly lobbed the entire thing at Cormac.

Pintel jumped slightly in his seat as he took part of the impact, then ducked just in time to avoid one of the fiery target's blindly swinging elbows. The bowl managed to tumble past him in the momentary confusion, then toppled onto the bench beside him and out of sight under the table. Rolls bounced everywhere.

Growling under his breath, Cormac sent Ashby a venomous look and leaned back to try and see where the bowl had gone. Then he lifted his head to glare at Pintel.

"Get it," he ordered.

Pintel sneered back. "_You_ get it."

Cormac responded with an angry roar, and slammed his fist threateningly down onto the table with a force that nearly made Pintel jump straight to the ceiling.

"Or—or I could get it!" the balding man suggested with a petrified grin. Still jittering, he bent down uncomfortably on the bench and wormed his head and shoulders under the table, searching for the bowl and its scattered contents. Pintel's yellowing eyes stared blankly into the darkness.

And Ragetti's stared back.

Pintel reacted like he'd just been clapped across the face. He let out a surprised yelp, and slammed the back of his head against the table's underside with a sickening _bang!_ Dazed, he gripped his throbbing skull with one hand and gawked in horror at the boy. _Ragetti was hiding under the table!_

Not only hiding, but also taking advantage of the large amount of bread that had just fallen in front of him. The lad already had an entire roll crammed into his mouth, and he'd been in the process of stuffing in a second one when Pintel's face had suddenly appeared in front of him. Ragetti stayed sensed up for a second, but his fright immediately switched to happy relief when he recognized his gruff companion.

Pintel took just a little longer to recover from his surprise, but once he did, he snatched up the bread bowl with a twitching hand and frantically began throwing whatever rolls he could find into it. After a minute or so of this, he clutched the recovered object to his chest and quickly sat back up straight. His bulging eyes were filled with panic.

Cormac blinked down at the bowl, then calmly reached over and finally took the roll that he wanted. Pintel watched tensely as the other pirate resumed his eating, trying to keep his nervous eyes from wandering back down.

A second later, Ashby looked over at him and spoke up. "'Ey mate. Yeh want to sit that thing back on the table?"

Pintel looked over at him dumbly, then realized with a jolt that he was still holding the bowl. "Oh! Oh yeah! 'Ere." Flashing a grin, he sat it down in the middle of the table and quickly turned his edgy gaze down to his plate of gruel. He had to look calm. He had to avoid attention. He had to keep himself from reaching down there and throttling that little idiot right on the spot!

But nobody looked away from his nervous face. In fact, Pintel had only succeeded in drawing even more eyes to him. All twelve heads were turned to him now, and in a dark instant of observation, all twelve of their mouths broke out into wicked grins. The crew could sense his fear. They had found their target.

"Scared you good, didn't he?" Wood laughed, referring to Cormac. "Didn't expect him to get mad, huh?"

"Nah, the chap's _been_ scared of me ever since 'e flew into me this afternoon!" Cormac crowed, and he jabbed at Pintel with his elbow for emphasis.

The nervous man nodded, trying to keep an argument from brewing. "Aye, it left an impression," he confessed. He was shifting his feet around under the table, trying to get an idea of where Ragetti was sitting. If that kid moved so much as a hair back, the crewmen on the opposite bench were going to know he was there with one kick…

"You spook easy, don't you Pintel?" a squinting pirate mocked. He leaned closer and laughed. "Look at 'im! 'E's still scared!"

"Whacha so scared of, Pintel?" another one with a tattooed scalp jeered.

"Yeh scared of me? Eh?" the man beside Ashby taunted, jerking his arm as if to throw his fork. He howled with laughter when Pintel flinched at the blow that never came.

They were all joining in. Every man at that table could sense their crewmate's fear, and though none of them knew the true source of it, they were all intent on having fun with it just the same. Their insults soon turned to nudges. Nudges turned to shoves. And every time Pintel shuddered or gave a reaction to it, their desire to torment him only grew. These were pirates; vulnerability was their favorite foe, and their only prey.

But Pintel endured it all as best as he could. It had only been a matter of minutes before his fear turned to anger, and he had almost lost control of himself and shoved back several times. He wanted to fight back—he always did! But his fear kept seeping back into his mind just long enough to remind him what would happen if one of these dogs ever looked under the table…

In the end, it was time that had saved him. Just a few minutes after the crew had started its nasty game, Winchcomb's voice shouted down the stairs to them that dinner was over. It was time to get back to work. The crew had obeyed, but not before having a final laugh at Pintel's expense. Then they all got up from their seats and exited through the sleeping quarters.

Once he was sure they were gone, Pintel finally let his anger out. Unfortunately, Ragetti was the only one there that he could let it out on.

"You lousy, stupid, sorry little—" his face was beet red as he reached down and seized the boy by his shirt collar. "What the hell do yeh think yer doin', hidin' under there?"

"I—I was hungry!" the youngster stammered. He was quaking like a leaf in Pintel's grasp.

"You were hungry!" the older man echoed, disgusted. He let Ragetti go then, throwing the kid back a little more roughly than he needed to. Pintel saw nothing wrong with this; the entire crew had just harassed him, and now it was his turn to pick on somebody.

"I was," Ragetti said honestly, scurrying away in search of the powder barrels. "I was lookin' for sumfin' to eat and I came in 'ere. I didn't know everyone were comin' in too! The table was the only place I could find to hide in!"

"Well I…I was gonna save some food for you, yeh li'l fool!" Pintel shouted. He was a very convincing liar. "Alright? And I told yeh to always stay close to a hidin' place when yeh wandered around! Sittin' under a bloody table ain't a hidin' place!"

Ragetti shrank down beside one of the barrels, staring resolutely at his feet. "Sorry Pintel…" he mumbled.

That wasn't good enough for the other. Sneering, he crouched down on one knee and glared hard at his silent charge.

"Can you swim?" he asked impatiently.

Ragetti looked up at him oddly. "I dunno."

"Just you remember," Pintel snarled. "I had an easy time sneakin' you on board this ship. _They'll_ have an even easier time throwin' yeh off."

He grabbed Ragetti by the collar once again, meeting his blue eyes sharply as he continued.

"…And old Davy Jones ain't half as friendly and understandin' as I am!"

Pintel chuckled at Ragetti's horrified gape all the while as he walked back up those steps and onto the deck.

--

---------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry for the long chapter. I really got into this one!


	7. Sea of Surprises

(Disclaimer: I don't own Pintel or Ragetti.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

The rest of the first day at sea, and so far most of the second, had held no further incidents, much to Pintel's relief. His threat had spooked Ragetti so much that the boy hadn't even considered leaving his hiding spot since the pervious evening. All day, he'd been huddled up in a paranoid ball, staring at the cabin ceiling and cringing every time he heard footsteps on the wooden floor.

As for his older companion, a similar wariness had set in. Pintel hadn't made up the scenario; he'd seen plenty of sailors thrown overboard in the past, and although losing this kid would have been all too convenient for him, he had a feeling Ragetti wouldn't be the only one to get the boot. After all, who was he to say the crew wouldn't hate _him_ just as much for sneaking that kid onto the ship?

The thought of floundering under water with his lungs on fire and nothing to hold on to made Pintel shudder, and so he decided to keep the hollow promise he'd made yesterday. That evening, when he was sure nobody was watching him at the crew's dinner table, he made sure to stuff some extra food into his coat pockets.

Unfortunately, Pintel was also still quite edgy around his fellow crewmen, and in his nervousness, he'd forgotten to deliver the goods. This occurred to him about an hour after mealtime, as he and Rub were in the middle of wrestling with the sails again.

Cursing under his breath, Pintel glanced over his shoulder at the set of stairs leading below deck. He might as well get it over with before something else happened.

"Oi, mate," he grumbled to Rub, formulating an excuse, "I gone and left me pistol in wif the hammocks. I'm gonna go grab it b'fore someone else does."

"Fine. Take yer time, mate!" Rub growled sarcastically through gritted teeth. The man wrenched his rope downwards with evident trouble, and Pintel was almost certain he heard a few bones crack. "I can 'old the fort down fer bof of us!"

Pintel nodded at him awkwardly, not quite sure how to respond, then hurried off. Of all the crewmen on this ship, Rub was probably the only one he could see himself remotely getting along with, and so the balding pirate figured he'd better hurry and return before he burned another helpful bridge.

In the end though, he was doomed to lose some trust in someone, and at that precise moment, he stumbled over a warped plank and nearly introduced his face to the deck floor. Prompted by the sudden jolt, his pistol flew from its holster and bounced away with a startling clatter. Pintel's eyes grew wide as he saw it go. His whole cover story was depending on that crazy gun! Without a second's thought, he dashed after it.

The pistol came to a stop beside the captain's cabin doors, where Pintel eagerly swiped it back up an instant later. His alibi once again stowed safely in his belt, the man stood back up to resume his original errand.

"I have to admit I'm concerned."

Pintel stopped. The voice had been Pellinore's. The sound of him speaking was no surprise, as he'd seen the captain go inside a few minutes ago to have a word with his first mate. But Pintel was oddly curious about what he'd just heard, and couldn't resist leaning a little closer to the door to catch more. What could this captain possibly be concerned about?

"Aye, and what'd yeh expect?" Winchcomb's voice sneered back from inside. "Yeh're tryin' to turn these lads into gentlemen! I've assured yeh plenty of times, they won't have any part of that rubbish!"

"It's no crime to try educating a crew. I need them to work for me; it's only natural that I tell them how to do so."

Winchcomb let out a sharp laugh at this. "What do you care how they do their jobs? We'll be rid of 'em in not but a few days."

"It's what could happen _during_ those few days that has me concerned, Mr. Winchcomb," Pellinore pointed out with a nervousness that was hard to miss. Pintel made an odd face at this, then inched just a little closer. Now he was fully hooked.

"Well you're wastin' yer energy on it, Captain," Winchcomb snapped. "We're just a few miles from shore; mark me, we'll reach Pilón in the next hour, and we'll be _gone_ from Pilón b'fore the sun ever comes up. This time tomorrow, we'll have what we came for, and it'll just be a matter of getting' to shore somewhere else!"

"And how will we get to that other shore without any conflicts arising?" the captain demanded. "The crew will want some tidy prophet for their troubles."

"And we'll have one! All you have to do is wave that promise in their faces, and they'll be happy as clams the whole voyage!"

Pintel blinked, somewhat confused by this strange statement. What exactly did the old bat mean by _waving_ that promise in their faces?

There was a pause, then Pellinore asked flatly, "You still don't think they'll get suspicious?"

From his secret position behind the doors, Pintel finally began to sense another uneasiness coming on from this conversation, worse than all the other unpleasant feelings he'd known before. _Suspicious of what?_

Winchcomb, however, was unfazed. "Trust me, Captain. I know how these sort of lads think. Although…" There was a shuffling sound as the wild pirate moved his chair closer. "…While we be discussin' the matter of payment, what's a little prophet fer yer partner in crime lookin' like right now?"

Pellinore's response was an exasperated one, like he'd been asked this question numerous times before and didn't have the time for it now. "Three hundred pounds for the delivery, plus an extra two hundred if there's no damage, delay, or bloodshed in the process. That is my final offer, as we decided yesterday, Mr. Winchcomb."

The older man chuckled under his breath. "And it still sounds like an offer I be takin.'"

Their discussion had come to an end. Another moment of silence passed, and then Pellinore's voice lit up with a casual comment about the calm wind tonight. Winchcomb, as always, was quick to jump in with another opinion of the situation. Both men were going on with their chat as if they'd been discussing the silliness of the weather all along.

And neither of them was aware of the sickened and rather disturbed crewman listening just outside the door.

-------------------------------------------------------

Pintel was in a state of denial.

It couldn't be true. It wasn't true. He'd only misheard Pellinore and Winchcomb through that thick wood, and he'd been antsy at the time anyways. He thought he'd heard the captain and first mate scheming about something with their shifty-sounding words and suspicious voices, but that hadn't been the case at all. It couldn't have been.

Could it?

Pintel forced the unsettling thoughts aside with a final grimace. He didn't have time to dwell on them right now, not with everything else he had to worry about. For now, he had to assume that he'd misheard the whole conversation, and trust that the captain really was the reliable man that he presented himself as.

There was a creak as Pintel placed his foot on the last step below deck, and a muffled gasp was immediately heard off to his right.

"Save yer snivellin'," he grumbled to Ragetti. "It's me."

A second later, the dirty blonde head rose into sight, and seeing it, Pintel murmured something else as he withdrew the smuggled items—an apple and a roll. He tossed them absent-mindedly at the barrel, and as he watched Ragetti scramble after them like the crazed animal he was, the pirate couldn't help adding "Fetch," as an afterthought.

Despite his maddening hunger, Ragetti hadn't taken more than two bites out of the apple before his bulging eyes shifted back over to the balding man. There was a curious but dim look on his face, and with some hesitation, he softly called out, "Pintel?"

The sound of his name stopped the other, who had just been turning to leave, in his tracks. "Wot?"

Ragetti lowered his eyes back to the apple, almost shying away from the response. He tilted his head awkwardly, instantly looking even dumber than before, and then asked his sudden itching question.

"Was Queen Elizabeth a Tudor?"

Now Pintel looked just as clueless as Ragetti, if not more. "Huh?"

"A Tudor, like Henry the Eighth and Bloody Mary. Were she a part of the Tudor dynasty?"

Pintel squinted as he attempted to understand this bizarre question. "…Where's this comin' from?"

"That fellow w'the green hat," Ragetti explained. "He were down 'ere b'fore wif another man, and the other man was showin' 'im 'ow to tie knots. The fellow w'the green hat told 'im 'e were the best tutor since Queen Elizabeth. Fink 'e was jokin', that green hat fellow…"

It was still a good while before any of this registered in Pintel's dusty mind. Up until this point, he'd seen Ragetti as nothing but a stupid little lump of a boy who was oblivious to everything. True, he still wasn't about to dismiss that notion, but this abrupt pondering of the English monarchy had caught him completely off guard. What could have possibly sparked something so random in such an empty head?

"…'Is name's Yager," he managed to say at last. "And it's a bandana, not a hat. …And _'ow the blazes_ do you know about Queen Elizabeth?"

Ragetti continued staring stupidly at his supper as he shrugged. "I've 'eard of 'er."

"Where?"

The boy lifted his head just then, suddenly stumped. "I dunno," he answered honestly. He grinned to himself just then. "I likes that fellow, Yager…"

Pintel blinked. "You _likes_ 'im?"

"'E's got two boys of 'is own back 'ome. 'E come out 'ere lookin' for some money for 'is family. Nice fellow."

"Now where'd you 'ere _this?_"

"'E said so 'imself. I 'eard 'im talkin' 'bout it."

Pintel raised a slightly amused eyebrow. He obviously had nothing against eavesdropping.

Ragetti chuckled to himself then. "I 'eard that Rub fellow talkin' 'bout 'imself too this mornin'…"

Pintel felt himself snap back into reality then. If anything, the boy's questions had taken his mind off of Pellinore and Winchcomb, and for that, he was almost grateful. But this comment immediately brought the thought of Rub and the sails back to his mind, and the stocky pirate decided he'd wasted enough time down here.

"Well, good luck wif that," he commented, and again turned to leave.

But before he was gone, one more question came to the lad's mind. "Pintel?"

The pirate stopped in mid-step and furrowed his brow. "_Wot?_"

"Where we goin'?"

Pintel glanced back at him with a half-mocking expression. "Yeh knows 'bout Queen Elizabeth but yeh doesn't know _that?_"

Ragetti just stared up at him blankly.

The older man sighed impatiently, then paused to piece together an answer. "Ever 'eard of Pilón?"

The boy shook his head.

"Well 'ave yeh ever 'eard of a place called Cuba?"

Ragetti gave the same negative response.

Pintel smirked with a hint of pride. "Just be glad you ain't goin' ashore when we gets there."

--

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Soon to be updated (once my teachers lay off with all the homework)


	8. Arrival at Pilón

(Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wish I did, but I don't.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

It was pitch black out when the _Glass Urchin_ dropped anchor off the coast of Pilón. Captain Pellinore's plan was simple: the crew would take the rowboats to shore, make their way through the streets as calmly and inconspicuously as possible, then haul it back to the boats once they had what they'd come for. According the captain, Winchcomb knew exactly where to find the man who possessed their unnamed objective, and the others would follow the old sailor's lead. The crewmen all clearly understood the need to keep a low profile on shore; only a fool would barge into the cutthroat pirate settlement firing away with his pistols. It was a sound plan, one with the element of surprise and little room for mistakes, and every man was content with it.

Everyone, that was, except for Wood.

"No!" the red-haired man whined futilely. "Why can't we come along? We can fight! I'll bet we're better fighters than most of the gits he's bringin' to shore!"

"Fighting isn't part of his plan," Yager explained as patiently as possible to the disgruntled youth. Even as they spoke, they were hurrying along the rail of the Urchin towards the quarterdeck at the stern. "The captain needs two men to mind the ship, and he told me that we're gonna be those men!"

A few meters away, Pintel was trying to ignore them as he looped a length of rope. He was still a bit wary about Pellinore's conversation, but his somewhat better judgment told him to keep his suspicions quiet. Even so, his shifty eyes kept scanning the faces of the other crewmen, searching for the captain.

"But this is a _pirate_ port!" Wood continued adamantly. "He can't expect to go in and out without a fight!"

"I can if I leave a troublemaker safely behind!" a stern voice sharply replied from behind. Yager and Wood both whirled around to meet Pellinore's grim face. Likewise, Pintel sat up in surprise and stared at the scene.

Seeing that he had their attention, the captain continued stiffly. "I can do as I please, Mr. Wood. I am the captain and you are a part of my crew, and when I order you to mind the ship, I expect you to obey. I won't tolerate anything less." He lifted his eyebrows curtly. "Is that clear?"

Wood certainly looked like he wanted to argue, but oddly enough, he decided to hold back his eager chain of insults. Evidently, Yager's harsh words from that afternoon were still branded in his mind.

"Couldn't be clearer, Captain," he replied, tightening his jaw and lowering his eyes.

Pellinore gave him a swift, almost nonexistent nod and marched away. As he passed Pintel, the shorter pirate quickly put on a silly-looking grin and waved. If the captain even noticed his crewman, he showed no sign of it.

Once he was gone, Pintel glanced back over at Yager and Wood, who were now making their way up the steps to the quarterdeck without a word. Then he took his rope, stood up, and staggered clumsily over to the nearest rowboat.

He was definitely keeping his suspicions to himself now.

----------------------------------------------------

The seaport of Pilón was one of the largest that Cuba could boast, and it had a history as old as piracy itself. It was actually a fort in its early days, founded and guarded by Spanish soldiers, but twelve years later it became one of the many bases to fall victim to Henry Morgan's extensive raid of the island. Today, Pilón was the home of pirates—and a frightful hoard of unwelcome residents they were. Even on its ugliest day, many sailors believed that Tortuga's crowd was easily paled by the scalawags of southern Cuba. The ancient, crumbling fortress wall now seemed like it was built to keep danger inside rather than out.

Pintel felt a lump rise in his throat as he eyed the stony barrier. The entire crew was crowded inside two rowboats, and their slow, heavy approach only added to his initial dread. Unable to push aside his edginess, he looked over at an equally cautious Rub who sat beside him.

"Who _is_ this fellow anyway?" he asked the other man in a low voice. "The one the cap'n's lookin' for?"

Rub's face was absolutely clueless when he looked back at Pintel, and so it was Ashby who answered.

"Only the most right foul demon what ever sailed these waters." His voice grew eerily hushed and he slowed his rowing. "A curse on any man who dares to leave safe land behind him."

Rub and Pintel both gazed at the third crewman.

Ashby turned and met their stares with ghostly eyes. "Scarborough."

Pintel gulped. "Scarborough?" he echoed.

"Aye," Ashby continued. "They say 'e's not of this earth. That 'e only disguises 'imself with the face of a mad Scotsman to fool 'is enemies, but when the timing's just right…_aah!_"

He jerked his head forward for emphasis then, making the other two jump back with surprise.

"—'E unmasks 'imself." Ashby was practically whispering now. "'E's got the eyes of a monster, 'e does…Yeh look deep enough into 'is eyes, you can see 'im for what 'e really is. But yeh don't wanna look too deep, or those eyes'll get yeh. 'E once sank a ship, that Scarborough…just by blinkin' at it. And 'e drug all its crew down t'the burnin', black nothingness where 'e came from…all with 'is burnin', black eyes…"

His tale had ended. Rub and Pintel were both chalk white with horror, and for a moment, neither one could say anything. Finally, Rub's senses returned to him and spoke up with wonder.

"How do you _know_ all that?"

Ashby's expression suddenly turned blank, instantly killing the suspense he'd created. "…I don't." He lifted his eyebrows in a stupid shrug, then held up a finger. "But I _do_ know 'is name's Scarborough!"

Rub scowled, returning to his normal self. "Yer crazy."

"At least I were smart enough to protect my crazy head." Ashby pointed to the round, swooping English siege helmet that he'd donned for that night's venture. "Anyways, I 'eard the name from the captain 'imself!"

With that, he resumed his rowing as if nothing had happened.

"Scarborough," Cormac mumbled from behind them. "Wonder what the captain'd want with a fellow like that."

Pintel just stared blankly ahead, his face still locked in its petrified shape.

----------------------------------------------------

Pellinore had his crew drag the rowboats as far into shore as they possibly could without beaching them. They were too far from the docks—the result of a small yet undeniable navigation error on the captain's part—but his plan was still to have their escape transports close to the fort wall. Once they were on land, Pellinore assigned two men to remain behind and mind the boats. The rest, he took with him.

Seven minutes later, Winchcomb had led them to an empty niche in the deteriorating wall, and the Urchin's crew entered Pilón with the utmost caution.

Pintel couldn't help feeling somewhat relieved by what he saw. Had it not been for its larger size and stony surroundings, he might have actually mistaken this place for Tortuga. Pirates of every sort littered the streets, drinking and stumbling around as they gleefully abandoned their senses for the night. The sounds of wild laughter and occasional gunfire filled the air. The balding man smirked to himself at these familiar observations; maybe this wasn't going to be so terrible after all.

Pellinore leaned a little closer to Winchcomb just then. "How much further?"

The older sailor was savagely concentrating on his task. "We're close," he hissed back. "Last time I seen it, it was two floors with a slash in the door. Mark my words, the old scoundrel's still in it."

Pellinore nodded slightly. "I'll tell the crew to split up. We only fight as a last resort." He was trying to hide his nervousness. Twelve men standing together like this was bound to look suspicious.

Winchcomb snorted like a bull. "Don't split 'em up too far."

The Englishman studied him warily, then turned towards the others. The closest crewman to him was a younger, dazed-looking fellow named Jiminy, whose dirty blonde hair was more or less pulled back in a grimy ponytail. Searching his mind for the right words, Pellinore looked around anxiously before he addressed the pirate.

"…You," he said, pointing. "Stay near the wall and make sure the way's clear. And…" He scanned the dirty faces of his followers. "Tell those two to move over that way, to the west."

Jiminy followed his direction. "Gill and Waldgrave?"

Pellinore nodded, oblivious. "Yes, them. And tell those three over there to stay here. The rest will come with Mr. Winchcomb and me."

Jiminy nodded. "Aye, Captain." A few seconds later, he was in a ring with those other five, explaining their newest orders. While they remained behind to sort out the arrangement, Pellinore and Winchcomb went on their way with the remaining four crew members: Owl Eyes, Ashby, Cormac, and a man named Botolph. Those would do just fine.

Once they'd moved on, the six who'd been left behind went their separate ways without a word. Jiminy hurried back the way he'd come, and the two pirates named Gill and Waldgrave wandered off in the direction they thought was west. Now the only three left standing in that spot were Rub, a cannoneer called Nequom, and Pintel. The mismatched trio stared awkwardly at each other for a moment, then with nothing else to do, they sat down on the ground.

Around them, the pirates of Pilón continued with their heedless activity.

THUD!

The three turned and saw a nearby man, clearly drunk, cursing to himself as he struggled to climb back onto his seat atop a keg barrel. His companion, equally intoxicated, was howling so hard with laughter that he nearly toppled over as well. The fallen man scowled.

"Shuddup!" he slurred angrily. When his friend's cackling still didn't stop, the irate man reached up with both hands and yanked him roughly to the ground. Even then, the laughing continued. "Shuddup!"

"You…you went down…like an old seabird, mate!"

"I said _shuddup!_" Then the enraged drunkard lunged at his friend. However, his tipsy state spoiled his aim, and he collided with Rub an instant later. Pintel and Nequom both jumped back with surprise, and their bearded comrade shouted with confusion and the impact completely knocked him over. The intoxicated pirate growled down at him, barely aware of the situation.

"Watch where ye's goin'!" he growled.

Rub shoved his unexpected attacker off fiercely, his infamous temper beginning to take over. "_You_ watch it, yeh filthy cad!"

Pintel inched back more, growing antsy again. "Uh, Rub…"

The fiery assailant wasn't about to back down. Baring his rotten teeth, he grabbed Rub by the collar and snarled hideously. Every remnant of his common sense had been drowned by rum.

"Don't yeh be's rasclin' wit me!" he growled. "Or I'll bleed the rascal right outta yeh!"

Rub just leered back. "You shut it, yeh ugly heap of—"

He never got to finish the sentence.

The drunk man lashed out entirely on impulse, drawing his pistol and wildly aiming it at Rub's face. Seeing the empty barrel, Rub only had time to act on instinct, and in that chilling second, his instinct told him to fight back. Without a thought, the bearded pirate yanked out his sword and swung blindly, hitting his opponent square in the chest. The drunk man fell back with another loud thud, and the crazed rage dwindled in his black eyes.

And then his friend did stop laughing.

It took several seconds fro Rub to realize what he'd just done, and seeing the dead man's body, he looked up with horror at the remaining stranger. A slowly growing sneer greeted him back.

Pintel and Nequom were frozen in fear, anticipating the next horrible move.

The still-living drunk man continued to stare at Rub for another brief moment, then with a twitch in his dirty face, he threw down his empty mug and sprang unsteadily to his feet with a bone-chilling roar.

Far ahead, Pellinore was stopped dead in his tracks by the battle cry. The hellish howl was soon followed by the clang of a sword and a loud gunshot, and then there was more shouting. Gripped by the terror that he'd barely been able to hold at bay, he whirled around to try and seek out the source of the sound. When he saw nothing through the confused jumble of pirates around him, stared desperately over at Winchcomb.

To his horror, there was a gleaming grin of utter madness and bliss on the old sailor's twisted face.

"There's your last resort!" he hooted.

--

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(Tough chapter to write. Hope it's worth the delay folks :) Rags'll be back soon!)


	9. Desperate Mission

(Disclaimer: Not mine.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

Ragetti couldn't take it anymore.

Even with all of his strange and interesting surroundings, two straight days of hiding in the ship's hold had taken its toll on him. He was an antsy boy, and the idea of having to stay anywhere for such a lengthy time, even with this threat of being discovered looming over him, was something he could only bear with for so long. It was a problem that had plagued him his entire life, every time his mother had stood him in a corner or outside a tavern and ordered him to stay put. Ragetti had to keep moving about, and whether this overwhelming desire was the result of constant curiosity or something far more pressing, he would never know. What he did know, at least for the present moment, was that the crewmen were all gone, and he couldn't sit behind these barrels for another second.

Inquisitive blue eyes peered out from their hiding place, and seeing that no man was in sight, the boy dashed out on all fours. The hammocks were still rolled up and stacked on the upper deck from the day, leaving the crew's sleeping quarters strangely empty. Fortunately, this lack of obstruction gave the young stowaway a clear view of the stairway, and without any further delay, he leapt to his feet and scampered towards the moonlit exit.

But it was right then that Wood's thin temper snapped again.

"It ain't fair!" he yelled, slamming his fist down on the rail.

Ragetti stopped so abruptly at the sound that he nearly hit his face on the step in front of him. Startled, he quickly crouched down out of sight on the stairs and tried to stay still. He looked just like a nervous dog as he sat there, panting and silently hoping that his loud footsteps hadn't given him away.

Fortunately, Yager was much too frustrated by his younger companion to hear the dull commotion behind him. With a heavy sigh, he lowered the sword he'd been sharpening and sent Wood the glare of an exasperated father.

"_What_ isn't fair?" he asked bluntly.

Wood pointed to shore. "The captain was mad at all four of us for foolin' around by the boom! How come those other two rats got to go ashore while we were left behind? They're troublemakers too!"

"So you think they should've also stayed behind?"

"Yeah!"

Yager knitted his bushy eyebrows as he stared deeper, trying to figure out the other man. "Why're you so keen on fighting anyways, Wood?"

"I'm good at it, that's why."

Yager arched his brow skeptically. "_That_ good?"

"Oh, let up," Wood snapped, defeated. "You want in on the action just as much."

From where he was hiding, Ragetti couldn't see either of the men's faces, but he recognized Yager's voice and felt a bit relieved from it. Yager was a nice fellow; there was no reason to be afraid of him. Even so, the boy knew that Pintel'd told him to stay out of sight, and the unfriendly sound of Wood's voice was further reason to keep hidden. After another moment's pause, Ragetti carefully exhaled and began inching his way back down the stairs.

Once the youngster was safely below deck again, he immediately crept over to the first hiding place he could find: a row of slowly rusting canons that'd been tied to the end hammock posts. Ragetti's eyes were glued to the stairway as he ducked under the nearest iron barrel and squeezed himself in between two of the giant weapons, reluctantly accepting his imprisonment for now.

Yager smiled at Wood's lifeless accusation. "No I don't," he laughed. "An old sea bird like me could use a break every once in a while. And I think _you_ need one."

"So you're just sharpening your sword for kicks then?" Wood asked, wryly lifting his brow.

The older pirate's smirk never faded. "Either that or I'm trying to make it look pretty."

The conversation died down shortly after that, giving Ragetti another touch of bravery bellow deck. Then the lad's curiosity kicked in, and he crawled out of his hiding spot to take a closer look at the cannon to his left. A lifetime spent on Tortuga obviously made him no stranger to such a weapon, but this was the first time that he'd ever been this close to one. Eagerly, Ragetti made the final dash to the front of the long barrel and peeked into the yawning hole that greeted him there.

It was much too dark to see inside the cannon, and the boy concluded after a few attempts that his arms were both too short to reach in all the way to the back. Was there anything in there? The stench of sulfur was certainly clear enough, but it might've just been an old smell; cannonballs weren't ones to take their odors away with them. The thought made Ragetti giggle dumbly to himself, then he moved back and studied the wooden floor in search of something to aid him in his expedition.

To his surprise, he saw light.

A thin stripe of moonlight, no wider than his little finger, stretching about sixty centimeters from end to end just off to his left. Puzzled, the boy glanced up at the ceiling and all around him as he looked for the light's source. A few seconds later, he did a double-take and finally rested his gaze on the glowing outline of a square on the wall nearby. He only hesitated for a moment before the giddy grin returned to his face.

Eagerly, he dashed towards it.

Like any ship, the _Glass Urchin_ was equipped with its cannons for use in naval battles, which were said (and often proven) to occur more often and swiftly the further a vessel went out to sea. The wheeled iron guns were obviously much too large and heavy to be brought up and properly handled on deck, so they were instead fired through square portals on each side of the ship. The _Urchin_ sported eight of such portals.

And on the starboard side, one of the four wooden cover panels was lifted open as Ragetti's dirty blonde head emerged to peer outside. The ominous wall of Pilón welcomed him from shore, prompting a silent laugh of amazement.

This certainly wouldn't be boring.

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"No!"

Pintel had barely gotten the cry out before his opponent lunged forward. The balding pirate toppled backwards on instinct, wincing as he felt the end of the other man's sword graze his jacket, then staggered to his feet and bolted away without another thought. He paused only once to fish out his pistol, which he promptly began firing off randomly behind him.

His fellow crewmen were growing just as desperate. Off to his right, Pintel could see Rub crouched nervously behind a keg barrel as he struggled to reload his own pistol. Off to the left, Nequom was searching the second drunkard's now dead body for a replacement weapon. Ashby, who'd just been dragged into the chaos, had lost his sword and was swinging his prized helmet at his adversaries. They were all surrounded, all outnumbered, all fighting a losing battle…

Another struggling figure caught Pintel's eye just then, and he lifted his head to see Pellinore frantically striking down an unbalanced opponent. Winchcomb was just a short distance away from the captain, doing likewise with considerably more confidence. Their foes both disposed of, the two turned to face each other and bellowed out a further strategy.

"Captain!" Winchcomb shouted first. "What's yer plan _now_?"

"_Where's the house?_" Pellinore cried back.

Winchcomb gestured wildly with his sword. "Over that way! Past the taverns! We can make it if we run!"

Pellinore glanced feverishly around at his scattered crew. He'd been wise in his careful selection; all of the men he saw were still holding their own despite their poor odds. Even so, he knew that this good fortune wouldn't last them forever, and that he would have to act quickly if he wanted to profit anything.

"We'll make the run!" he responded. "We've come too far to leave! I'm getting what I came for!"

Winchcomb nodded and tripped slightly as he searched the crowd. A moment later, his pointed eyes suddenly fell on Cormac, and he pointed with his sword again. "You! Get over here, yeh slog! We need backup!" A second later, the crewman was sprinting towards him.

Then Pintel's bumbling form caught Winchcomb's eye as well, and the grizzled first mate glared at his underling from across the filthy, crowded battlegrounds.

"You too!" he snapped. "Get over here!"

Pintel gave no protest to this hasty recruitment and immediately scrambled forward. He could use some backup of his own right now. The other three barely waited for him to catch up before taking off.

Down the streets they tore, shouting and swinging their swords at any foe that tried to stop them. Their attackers all seemed to have realized that there was a captain in the anxious foursome, and every sea mutt that sprang at them did so in hopes of taking down a possibly important figure. Even in the hideous confusion of this senseless fight, some pirates were still able to hone their desires for infamy and its grim profit.

But Pellinore's desperate run wouldn't last for much longer.

"There!" he shouted, and for the first time since Pintel had met him, there was eagerness and life gleaming in the captain's eyes. "I see it straight ahead!"

Pintel glared ahead towards their objective, but in all the commotion surrounding him, he only registered it as a tall and run-down house. That was Captain Pellinore's plan: he wanted to break into somebody's house. It seemed like an odd goal, but once again, the balding pirate had no objections as he hurried along.

A big house with four walls would be nice backup too.

But just as Pintel was thinking this hopeful thought, one more wily opportunist decided to take a swing at their nervous little pack. The man was strangely thin for a buccaneer, but his skill with a blade was just as good as any, and his temperament just as violent. Quick as a demon, he shot out of the night shadows, and only Winchcomb's eye was keen enough to spot him in time.

"Arrr!"

The old sailor instinctively swung out with his sword, blocking the attacker's blow. His opponent only sent him a threatening snarl before advancing again. By now, Pellinore and the others were far ahead of the first mate, slowing slightly as they watched him engage in his latest skirmish. The captain in particular seemed reluctant to continue without his useful partner, and in one moment of conflict, stopped dead in his tracks. Winchcomb's priorities, however, were as straight as any pirate's.

"_Keep goin'!_" he roared, and swung at the thin attacker a second time.

"Aye aye!" Pintel readily complied. Then he and Cormac eagerly dashed off again, accompanied by a hesitant Pellinore. The strange house was just ahead of them; there was no sense in slowing their chaotic mission any further.

Another moment of tense running and the pounding of hearts passed, and then the three men finally reached that slashed front door and threw it open as one. Their final barrier out of the way at last, Pellinore and his two crewmen frantically sprang inside that mysterious abode and slammed the door shut behind them. For now, the fray outside could be ignored.

It was dark inside, save for a few dimly burning lanterns that hung from various places in the entryway. A faded Spanish pattern lined the blue walls, accented by the rusted remnants of an iron chandelier that hung perilously overhead. The house appeared to be some sort of headquarters—no doubt it'd been built at the same time as the original fort. Its first resident could have even been the commander of Pilón himself.

But these details meant nothing to the three intruders, whose eyes immediately flew to the staircase on their left. The course was clear enough to them, and they all sprang forward and barged up those steps without so much as a word of consultation. The muffled sounds of gunfire and clanging swords from outside only egged them on further, adding to the overflowing anxiety. Cormac took the lead as he raised his sword, and Pintel chimed in by snatching up a lantern and barreling on after him. Pellinore was scanning his surroundings as he brought up the rear, warily lifting his own weapon.

A long hallway met them at the top of the stairs, and once their eyes were fully adjusted to the darkness, the outlines of several open doorways became visible. Now the captain ordered them to split up.

"Mr. Cormac," he said in a firm but low voice, "Take the doors at the end of the hallway. Mr. Pintel, take the middle two. I'll search these two here."

Swords at the ready, they each crept over to their designated areas and continued the anxious hunt. Pellinore held his breath as he stepped inside his first room, his face pale with fear. A few meters away, Pintel thrust his lantern inside the room before him as a decoy for any enemy lurking inside. When the dimly glowing instrument remained fully intact, he slowly edged in after it. Cormac, however, had found a burst of confidence and gritted his teeth as he trudged through the doorway. Eagerly, he raised his sword higher as he entered the shadowy room.

And a muscular hand instantly latched onto his wrist.

The pirate jerked back in surprise, immediately over his fit of courage, and before he even knew what was happening, Pintel and Pellinore were right behind him with equally shocked faces. The mysterious hand moved Cormac's sword arm away firmly, tightening its unfriendly grip for emphasis. And then the rest of the figure leaned eerily into view.

"Yeh best not be usin' that now, mate," he purred.

Pintel was frozen in shock. The man was tall—almost inhumanly so—with the top of his head nearly brushing the low ceiling. His red beard was like fire wreathing his leathery face, and the black eyes that peered down through those flames made him look like nothing short of a demon. This was Scarborough, and Ashby's empty story about him suddenly wasn't so foolish sounding anymore.

"Scarborough," Pellinore said dismally. He'd lost a lot of his nerve now that Winchcomb wasn't standing beside him.

The tall man squinted down at him, puzzled for a moment, then smiled darkly when he finally recognized the captain.

"Francis Pellinore," he mused. "I see yer forthcomin's have done yeh no good."

As he said this, Scarborough stepped backwards ungracefully and slumped down onto the oak chair in front of his desk. His audience of three stared at him oddly at first, not expecting this move from such an imposing figure, but when he leaned back into the moonlight, the dull, distant look in his eyes became visible, they realized what was ailing him. The Scotsman was only half with them; he'd had more than his fill of rum as well.

This seemed to spark a hint of assurance in Pellinore, who stepped forward just then. He hesitated for only a second as he searched for the right response to Scarborough's comment.

"Oh, I bet to differ," he answered carefully. "From where _I_ stand, _you're_ the one sitting unarmed while the sword is in _my_ hand. I should think my forthcomings have done me a world of good."

The other continued to smirk, unimpressed. "Aye, but a sword does a man little good if his hand doesn't know how to be usin' it. You just watch yerself when yeh meet a man who _can_ handle a sword—_that'll_ do yeh a world of good."

The English captain angled his sword downward a little more, closer to his surly acquaintance. "Enough," he said rigidly. "You stole something from me and I've come to reclaim it."

"So yeh have," Scarborough observed with an arch of his brow. He leaned forward a bit in his chair and shifted to his right, but Pintel noticed that the faded slyness never left his devilish fate. "Yer a determined man, to come huntin' me down for it. And I give yeh credit for it if these lads—" he motioned to Pintel and Cormac, "—didn't help yeh find yer headin'. But it seems a shame to hand over the goods now, after yeh've done so much to get here. Suppose yeh used yer huntin' skills one more time?"

Pellinore narrowed his eyes. "Do you mock me still?"

Scarborough didn't even blink. "Yeh've gone ninety percent of the way. Let's see if yeh can cover the last ten."

The captain clenched his jaw and nodded to Pintel and Cormac, reluctantly accepting the challenge. "Search the room."

The two crewmen set to it without a word, pulling open dresser drawers and rummaging through closets. At one point, Cormac retrieved a flat wooden box from under the bed and help it up for Pellinore to see, but the Englishman dismissed it.

"It's in a heavier case," he explained to them. "A chest almost. It's old ebony." All the while, he kept his sword pointed unflinchingly at Scarborough; he wasn't about to chance letting the shifty pirate captain move from his seat.

Cormac burrowed his brow at these unrewarding results and resumed searching.

Not far away, Pintel continued digging through the closet, though his focus was obviously more on Scarborough. Even sitting down, the man was a giant; his head must have still been a few centimeters higher than the balding pirate's. How had Pellinore come to know such an eerie seas man? And what game was Scarborough playing now by making them search the room like this? Pintel could feel his hands shaking now.

Was the Scotsman trying to buy himself time? Was he trying to delay them so some of his crewmen could show up? It sent a chill down Pintel's spine, the thought of a group of Scarborough's followers waiting for them just outside the house door, ready to cut off their escape.

Or to cut their throats.

Pintel's fingers suddenly gave way, and his sword clattered loudly on the floor. No sooner had he dropped his weapon than he dove down to pick it up. He was a nervous mess, and like always, he knew that his fear would only become harder and harder to hide. At last, he lowered his eyes from Scarborough's back, hoping to avoid Pellinore's questioning glare. Fortunately, as he did so, something on the floor caught his eye.

It was hard to tell in this darkness, but two of the floorboards beneath him appeared to be loose, like they'd been pried open a while ago and simply laid back in place. Cautiously, he placed his hand firmly over the nearest board and shook it. Sure enough, he heard the rattling of wood, and he grasped the board with both hands. When it lifted without the slightest resistance, Pintel felt a wave of hope rise inside him. His captain watched guardedly as his crewman pulled out the second floorboard and reached down into the gaping hole he'd created.

Pintel's face lit up. There was something inside. A second later, his fear now gone, he pulled out the unexpected prize—a heavy, tattered bag—and reached into that with just as much fervor.

Pellinore needed only to see a corner of the case to know that Pintel'd found it. "That's it!" he said with undisguised relief. "Bring it here." Pintel and Cormac hurried over to their captain and dutifully handed it to him. Pellinore shook the black case once, and smiled triumphantly when he heard shuffling and clinking inside. Clutching his objective tightly to his chest, he turned his attention back to the ominous Scarborough.

"A man needn't hunt, Captain Scarborough," he concluded, "when he brings the right convoy to do so for him."

"A pity," the Scotsman replied coolly.

Pellinore looked over at his shorter follower. "Mr. Pintel," he ordered smoothly. "As a reward, you may shoot our host through the head."

Pintel graciously retrieved his pistol. "Aye, cap'n." Then basking in his newfound confidence, he aimed his favorite weapon at their adversary and pulled the trigger…

_Click!_

There was a pause. Pintel stared down at his gun in confusion, then quickly fired it a second time. Again, no shot came out. Still, he continued squeezing his trigger, trying to keep the panic at bay.

_Click! Click! Click! _

Now Pellinore and Cormac were beginning to feel uneasy as well. What was wrong with the pistol? To Pintel, however, the mystery soon solved itself with the memory of him scrambling madly through the streets of Pilón…frantically firing his gun behind him.

He was out of shots; the pistol was completely empty. And worse yet, Pintel could see the sadistic amusement appearing on Scarborough's face as the demonic captain realized his dilemma. Suddenly robbed of his upper hand, and feeling very much like a cat that'd been caught with his paw inside the birdcage, Pintel could do nothing more than stare at the red-bearded pirate and force out a timid little laugh.

Scarborough returned the laugh with an unpleasant grin, and swiftly pulled open the top drawer of his desk—which he promptly retrieved his own pistol from.

His three guests were out of the room an instant before the first shot fired. Dust and splinters erupted from the opposite wall, then Scarborough leapt to his feet and gave chase. Out in the hallway, Pellinore and his crewmen were in a mad dash for the staircase.

"_What the blazes happened to yer pistol?_" Cormac shouted at Pintel.

"I used it up!" the shorter man cried back. "There's a lot of fings t'shoot outside!"

"Well get one that 'olds more shots next time!"

"_Next time?_" Pintel shrieked. "How d'yeh know there'll _be_ a next time?"

"_JUST RUN!_" Pellinore bellowed over them.

Hope was no longer a luxury.

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(Yes! I finally updated! I got a HUGE case of writer's block in the middle of this chapter, so I'm really sorry for the long wait. The next chapter will be up sooner.)

Please read & review!


	10. Dash to Freedom

(Disclaimer: Disney owns Pintel and Ragetti; I do not.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

From where he was watching, Ragetti could see none of the conflict occurring on Pilón. The _Glass Urchin_ was anchored roughly a hundred meters away from shore, and the towering fortress wall blocked any view of the action. The boy could, however, _hear_ a good deal of commotion from this distance, and the sounds of screaming and gunfire only made him itch more to see what was going on. His unblinking eyes never moved from the shadowy coastline.

"Pintel…" he murmured softly. Ragetti wanted to call out to the man, to see if Pintel could hear him from this far away too, but the lingering presences of Yager and Wood made him think better of it. The boy frowned and leaned a little further out through the cannon portal, squinting eagerly.

The ship was beginning to feel like a cage again.

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The world was nothing but a blur to Pintel.

Down the hallway, down the stairs, towards the door, just running and running with Scarborough's threatening shots echoing sharply in his ears; that was the only thing that the short pirate knew now. Death was only a few paces behind him, and as far as he knew, there was no life waiting ahead.

At last, the three of them reached the front door, and Cormac promptly hurled himself at it as he twisted the tarnished black knob. The door swung open from his forceful momentum, and Pellinore and Pintel dove out after him in turn. To their disillusionment, the situation outside was no less chaotic now than when they'd left it; even so, the frantic trio never broke stride. Jaws clenched, they lunged into the street clutching their swords with white knuckles and concentrating on the hammering sounds of their still beating hearts.

Pintel's breaths were coming out in panicked squeaks now, and his terrified eyes darted anxiously back and forth in search of the bloodthirsty Winchcomb. Not far behind him, Pellinore clung tightly to the recovered black chest as if it were a beloved child, and he wore the same dread-filled expression as his crewman. The wily first mate—probably their best chance of getting out of this mess—was nowhere to be seen.

And then Scaborough reemerged onto the scene with a kick to his slashed door. His strides were wide and hurried as he prowled out into view, but his grim face was as patient and poised as a man seated at a chessboard, stealthily plotting his newest strategy. Pintel and Pellinore both saw his devious expression, and froze with horror as his black eyes found them in the crowd.

"Men!" the Scotsman shouted for all to hear. He pointed his now-empty pistol in the unlucky pair's direction. "All hands on those thieves!"

No sooner had he said this than the nearest duo of cutthroats spotted Pintel and Pellinore and lunged, so eager were they to carry out Scarborough's orders. The next thing that the two _Urchin_ men knew, a haze of cutlass blades and pistol shots was sailing towards them. Pellinore barely had time to react before the black case was knocked from his hands and sent tumbling across the ground. The artifact went completely unnoticed by the pirate who'd sent it on its journey; he'd thought Scarborough's command had been to simply kill the men holding it, which was precisely what he intended to do. Pellinore raised his sword defensively.

Pintel's face went chalk white as he saw the case leave Pellinore's grasp, and he immediately dove after it without a thought. The case had been a hard won prize—he wasn't about to let it roll back into the wrong hands. After a bone-chilling second, the black case came to a halt on its side and Pintel frantically tackled it, throwing himself onto the ground and grabbing it. But before he could stand up with the mysterious treasure, Scarborough's second and much keener messenger made his presence known with a fierce stomp of his boot, just centimeters away from the startled crewman's face.

Pintel rose nervously to his feet and met his opponent's eye with timid wariness. The other pirate only responded by lifting his cutlass and flashing a hideous sneer of a grin.

But just then, Pintel's gaze shifted to something behind his much taller adversary, and his already terrified eyes nearly doubled in size. The balding pirate pointed a trembling finger.

"…_LOOK!_"

The threatening pirate instinctively spun around to follow his direction, ready to take on the apparent danger behind him. To his bafflement, there was nothing there at all. Puzzled, the man turned back to question his opponent, but all he could see was the little thief's back bidding a hasty retreat with the black case stuffed under his arm.

Diversions were yet another of Robert Pintel's many talents.

The threatening pirate growled with disgust took of after him. A short distance away, Pellinore pacified his own foe with a metal rum mug to the head before pursuing Mr. Pintel as well.

Nothing could catch up to the stocky crewman now. Pintel was running strictly on fear, and the overwhelming emotion gave him enough speed for two men as he tore through the street. He didn't even know if he was being followed, but he wasn't about to risk slowing down to find out; he was perfectly content with running.

Then just as he finished this thought, the tensed shape of Jiminy appeared ahead of him, staggering along in a daze with his sword swinging randomly about. That was when Pintel decided he liked his life a little more than the black chest.

"Jiminy!" he shouted, slowing his pace slightly. "_Jiminy!_"

The younger man stopped to stare at him, and Pintel swiftly placed the stolen prize into his confused arms without even stopping.

"Take this, lad," he said in a sincere tone, and continued running. Jiminy grinned stupidly down at the case.

"Oi, thanks mate!" he called cheerfully after Pintel. Then he turned to stare forward again, and his grin suddenly switched to a look of shock when he saw the threatening pirate bounding towards him. With a frightened yelp, Jiminy dashed off in the same direction as his older crewman.

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As for the rest of the crew, the crack in the fortress wall was too far out of the way for most to find in their hurries, and so they'd come up with a new method of escaping the barrier: climbing over it. The first to attempt this feat were Ashby and Owl Eyes, who hurled up a borrowed grappling hook and scrambled madly up the attached rope. A second later, Rub was clumsily on their tail. The weathered stone was broken and chipped in several places, aiding them in their ascent with its countless footholds. Their enemies roared from behind and gunshots exploded against the wall all around them, but the desperate daredevils reached the top of the barricade without a scratch.

And from the hold of the _Glass Urchin_, Ragetti could see their three shadowy shapes rise into view. The boy suddenly sparked to life at the sight of them, excited that something was finally happening on shore, and leaned further out of the cannon portal to watch. Men were climbing the wall, but it was too dark and far away to properly identify any of them. Still, Ragetti rose higher up onto his toes, leaning closer to search for a shorter and stockier shape among all the tall ones.

Above him on deck, Yager happened to glance towards Pilón's wall as well, and when he spotted his fellow crewmen struggling to climb down to the rocky beach, he suddenly forgot about sharpening his sword. Quickly setting his weapon aside, the bearded sailor stood up and took three cautious steps over to the rail.

"What the devil…"

This got Wood's attention in turn, and the younger man immediately stopped cleaning his pistol to hurry over to his companion's side. A grave look passed through his green eyes at the sight on shore.

"That cad-brained idiot," he growled.

Nequom was the next man to scuttle up the rope, followed closely by the newly arrived Cormac. Both men were so anxious to dodge their enemies' farewell shots that they nearly plowed into Ashby when they reached the top of the wall. Owl Eyes looked up with a start at the sound of Ashby's angry yelp and nearly lost his footing. The cook was making his way down the front of the wall like a spider, or at least was attempting to under the pressure.

Gill and Waldgrave were shouting at him from the rowboats, having already found their secret exit way and made the dash to the water several minutes ago. Alongside them were Snitch and Burby, who had been ordered by Pellinore to mind the boats from the beginning of his crazed mission. The other four crewmen continued to flounder about on top of the treacherous wall, determined to reach its bottom.

Then Botolph joined them with his own pistol in hand, looking about ready to shoot anybody to tried to give him and his crewmates any further grief. Picking up his pace, the squinty-eyed pirate hauled himself up the last half meter and flailed his gun arm slightly to balance himself. But before he could do anything more, one of the piercing shots that threatened from behind abruptly hit its target, striking him square in the back. Botolph let out a strangled cry of agony and toppled forward lifelessly.

He was the first crewman to reach the rocks below.

Even with his startling fall, his pistol remained firmly in his dead fingers, and when his arm slammed against the ground, the weapon fired. The escaped shot sailed from shore, whizzing through the still and moonlit air, and hit the waves directly in front of the _Urchin_'s starboard side with a sharp splash.

Ragetti made a startled yelp and instinctively sprang back. He stumbled backwards away from the portal, fully inside the ship once again, but he stepped a little too far and tripped over his feet in his ungraceful fright. It was the worst place for him to trip in.

_SMASH!_

The boy hadn't even noticed the unlit lantern hanging behind him until he'd plowed into it, knocking it off of its hook and onto the floor where it shattered. Ragetti rose to his hands and knees and gazed down in horror at the broken glass lying in front of him.

The clatter hadn't gone unnoticed up on deck either.

Yager and Wood both turned with surprise at the sound, and the absolute worst possibility of its source appeared in each of their heads. The two rushed to the stairs that led bellow deck, and Yager only slowed once to retrieve his discarded sword. Across the deck and down the steps they charged, coming to a halt at the edge of the hammock posts. The duo glanced around warily, then paused.

Wood blinked. "There's no one here," he said oddly.

His older companion left his side for a moment to aggressively shove aside a few keg barrels, continuing the search. When this gave him no results, Yager then went over to a nearby supply cabinet and flung it open. The only things he found inside were a rack of muskets and a row of grappling hooks lined up beneath it. Wood chimed in by jabbing his sword at the ceiling a few times, but he heard no sign of anyone hiding in the rafters either. He frowned skeptically at this.

"There's gotta be _someone_ here," the red-haired pirate insisted. He crouched down to inspenct the broken lantern. "I mean, this thing couldn't have been suicidal."

"It was probably just a rat," Yager concluded with a quick glimpse at Wood. He sheathed his sword then. "There's nowhere big enough for a man to hide down here."

The sounds of battle rang on outside. Hearing them, Yager sighed silently to himself and looked around the room a final time. Just as he did so, however, his eyes came to rest curiously on the row of large iron guns sitting before him.

"Wait…" He took a step closer. "The cannons!"

Wood stared up at him strangely. "I doubt a rat would do anything to the cannons."

"No no!" Yagver cut him off. "We could use the cannons!"

"Huh?"

"For defense. You know—fire 'em off over there, scare back the locals and give our men some cover!"

Wood stood up. "Are you crazy?" His voice was completely serious.

Yager smirked back at him. "Are _you_?"

There was another pause, and then a look of excitement and determination gleamed on the other man's face. "Absolutely."

Then the two grabbed the nearest cannon and began wheeling it towards the portals, unaware of the dirty blonde head peeking at them from behind the far end of the row.

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Please review!


	11. Crabby Company

(Disclaimer: Don't own Pintel and Ragetti.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

Pintel could see the fortress wall just ahead of him. He'd been running for what seemed like ages now, and he felt just about ready to collapse there on the spot; to him, the sight of that stone barrier was nothing short of a sign from heaven. What was more, the wide crevice that led to shore was yawning directly in front of him, greeting the exhausted man and granting him passage. He only had to cross a few more meters…

"Oi! You there! Oi!"

Pintel only glanced back briefly when he heard the voice, then desperately picked up his speed when he realized its shouts were directed to him. He had to try and outrun it. He was almost there, almost out! He couldn't let some slack-jawed fool get the best of him now! That crumbled exit way was just a sprint away—

But his attempt was in vain, and a rough hand seized him by the back of his jacket. Before Pintel could even comprehend what had just happened to him, he was spun around and slammed painfully back against the very wall he'd been trying to reach. There was nothing left for him to do but stare at his capturer, and he did so with utter shock.

It was Winchcomb.

"Where is it?" the old sailor demanded. He didn't seem much in the mood for a fight anymore. "Where's the case?"

"J-Jiminy has it," the shorter pirate stammered in between gaps. Then he added as an afterthought, "But I wouldn't steal it if I _was_ carryin' it!"

The first mate was about to say something else, but his words were silenced by the howl of a man in pain. The two turned in unison and saw a pirate—a local one—topple to the ground in a motionless heap. He'd gotten in the way of a careless neighbor's shot, and now the frozen look of agony would never leave his dead face.

It was clear enough to Winchcomb that his questions could afford to wait, and he and Pintel darted through the giant crevice like a pair of frantic minnows. Then with a final burst of energy, they emerged out onto the rocky beach and gratefully bid farewell to the pirates of Pilón. It was a relief to see the open air again, but both men knew that they weren't out of this mess just yet.

Pintel stumbled once and winced loudly as he hit his knees on the rocks. He was panting and aching terribly, and now the spine-tingling numbness in his legs only made him even slower. Still, he managed to drag himself to the edge of the rocks after Winchcomb and fell with a squeak down the tiny slope of sand to the beachfront. The first mate was already huddled under a large outcropping of rock, shielded from sight and gunfire as he searched his person for another weapon. Pintel frightfully threw himself underneath the pitiful barricade and crouched as he tried to find his breath.

A short distance away, Pellinore had also found his way to the fort wall, and seeing Jiminy struggling to climb the rope with the black case under one arm, he immediately began his own rapid ascent.

"Lad!" the captain shouted, cursing that he didn't know the young man's name. Jiminy whipped his head around to see Pellinore rising towards him, and quickly lifted himself to the top of the wall before fully turning around.

The Englishman pointed a stiff finger at the case. "Don't lose that!" He grunted with effort as he climbed further up. "In fact, give it to me right now!"

Jiminy nodded. "Aye, Captain!" he piped, and held the enemy-attracting object out to his commander a little too enthusiastically. Pellinore practically flew the rest of the way up when his fingers touched that ebony box. As far as he was concerned, the mission had been accomplished.

Back on board the _Urchin_, Yager and Wood were wrapped up in their own task.

"Alright!" Wood shouted as he jumped away from the end of the cannon barrel. "It's all loaded! Now what?"

Yager peered out the portal. "I say we shoot it to the left that way, over the wall. We don't want to aim too close to the crew."

"Can we even aim one of these things from this far away?" Wood asked.

"We're gonna find out in a minute," his friend answered, wheeling the cannon forward a little more. "Let's light it!"

The bearded man then held up the long wooden taper wand, and as soon as his dreadlocked friend eagerly lit it, he lowered it to the cannon's wick.

_BOOM!_

The iron ball blasted through the portal with a burst of smoke and light, shooting towards shore with a blinding speed…and collided violently with the guard tower just to the right of the fleeing crew.

Seeing the impact, Jiminy shrieked, and Pellinore's head snapped up in time to see the chunks of broken stone hurtling towards them. They were still at the top of the wall with no other rope to climb down, and so there was only one thing left to do.

"Jump!"

Jiminy instinctively kicked off from the wall, and Pellinore clutched the case to his chest once more as he did likewise. A split second later, stone crashed into stone exactly where they'd been perched, and a dusty cloud rose from the crippled tower beside it. Winded and shaken but unhurt, the captain and his crewman landed heavily in the sand just beyond the rocks where their momentum had carried them. Neither of them lay still for more than a second before they sprang to their feet and lurched towards the rapidly loading rowboats.

Yager and Wood both stared at their results with bulging eyes.

"…Guess that answers your question," Yager said stiffly, still bracing the cannon from its backlash. Wood's fingers remained tightly jammed into his ears as he tried to take in the irony of the situation.

Behind them, Ragetti hastily took advantage of their shock and scurried quietly back to the safety of his powder barrel hideout.

Pintel and Winchcomb had also heard the blast of the cannon, and they felt a sharp tremor from the nearby impact. Both of them reached up to grasp the outcropping over their heads, remaining tense with confusion until the unstable feeling passed. The shorter of the two blinked up towards the source of the noisy vibration.

"…Wot was that?"

The question went ignored. Very much wanting an answer, Pintel turned his attention over to Winchcomb to ask again, but just as his eyes settled on the older man, a much smaller figure crept silently into sight.

It was a crab.

Pintel squinted unpleasantly at the creature, which was sandy gray in color and slightly larger than the palm of his hand. No doubt the little crustacean had been startled out of its hiding place by the blast, and it was slowly and dully making its way down Winchcomb's sleeve in a dazed getaway. The balding pirate frowned and shifted a little to clear an exit for their unwelcome guest. No sooner had he done this, however, than another set of spidery yellow legs and bulging black eyes suddenly crawled up over his own shoulder.

Pintel made a startled gasp and swatted the second crab off of his arm, watching with disgust as it then fell to the ground and scuttled blindly away. It was followed out by a third one a moment later, and then Winchcomb angrily brushed off his own pest when he became aware of their newest predicament. The crabs all scurried out onto the beach in a tiny cluster, completely heedless of the danger behind them…

BANG!

The two cornered pirates both jerked back as the first crab exploded in a burst of broken legs and claws that sent its brothers fleeing. A strange voice shouted a few meters away—the voice of the shooter—and then the sound of more nervous scratching could be heard from behind. Pintel and Winchcomb each turned their heads towards it with a look of dread, anticipating the next onslaught.

Winchcomb was the first one to react as a particularly large crustacean darted over his leg. While the first mate growled impatiently and kicked at the animal, Pintel watched with fright as another few emerged beside him. The shorter man tried to avoid all three of these newest crabs, but he suddenly froze when he felt the tingling sensation of more prickly legs on the back of his neck. The crabs were in a frenzy from this battle now, and their only way out was being blocked by two large and clumsy humans.

Pintel couldn't help but shriek as he feverishly tore the sneaking creature off of his neck. How did this happen to him? Panicked crabs in here, revenge-hungry shooters out there, the rest of their crew starting to row off without them—this was a torture fit for Hell!

"_Ahhh!_" Winchcomb shouted as one of the eight-legged demons clamped down on his collarbone. He reached up to grasp the wriggling little body and wrenched it free, showing one of its white claws to be spotted with blood. More of the crabs seemed to be emerging from his side of the hideout, and Pintel could see that the old sailor had at least five of them latched onto his struggling body. The first mate snarled again as he ripped off another nebbish critter, then reached for his belt and yanked out his pistol. Pintel yelped and recoiled from the outburst; he was scared to death of Winchcomb as it was, and now the man's unstable temper had gotten the best of him.

But Mother Nature decided to push her sense of humor just one more step further.

Pintel never saw the crab crawl down Winchcomb's shirt, but he realized what'd happened when the first mate roared again and impulsively threw himself forward, revealing the twitching bulge between his shoulder blades. The grizzled buccaneer fell hard into the sand and rolled over wildly, trying to crush his pinching intruder. It was just as he did this that his senses returned, and he realized that he was no longer under the outcropping, but lying in plain sight on the sand in front of it. From the top of the wall, a waiting pirate grinned and took aim.

BANG!

With another gasp, Pintel shrank back even closer to the crab-covered rocks. Winchcomb had just dodged the shot by a hair, and he was making for the rowboats as fast as his stiff legs would allow him. It was too late for him to turn back now.

Pistol shots continued to fire at him, now from more than one shooter. It was still dark out, and the ne'er-do-wells of Pilón had given up trying to target the retreating rowboats. For them, firing away at this hapless rogue meant one more chance to have some sadistic fun.

Winchcomb tried to fire back as he ran, tried to turn and aim his own pistol up at them. The sand was erupting in tiny little clouds around him as the stray shots blasted into the ground, and the deafening sounds of gunfire and battle cries muddled even the thoughts of his anxious spectators. Finally, the old scar-faced pirate pulled his trigger in a final act of defiance, and an instant later, a searing red hole splattered onto his chest and he fell onto the sand like a dropped burlap sack. From the rowboat, Pellinore's pale stunned face was a stark contrast to the darkness around him.

Now Pintel was the only man left on shore, and it looked like he would stay there.

He scooted back and forth fiercely, taking advantage of the sudden extra space as he tried to dodge and scrape off more of the crabs. One had found its way onto the top of his head, but Pintel was forcing himself to ignore it as he tried to pry a larger specimen off from the inside of his jacket. While he was wrestling with this stubborn crustacean, another one suddenly chose to crawl up his left pant leg, and the stocky pirate frantically reached down to shove it back out. All the while, he was whimpering with terror and repulsion.

"Ahh! No! Get off! Get off me!"

He was going to die here. That was the first thought that came to Pintel's mind. He was going to die here. His captain and the rest of the crew would leave him behind, and he would die at the hands of the scalawags two lived here, whether by these crabs flushing him out to meet Winchcomb's fate or by the shooters coming down to shore and yanking him out themselves. They would kill him, and the rest of Pellinore's crew would sail away on the _Urchin_ without so much as a thoughtful memory of him. And Ragetti would be on that ship with them.

Pintel pushed this last thought aside. He didn't even want to imagine what would happen to that stupid lad once he was discovered. Instead, he returned his grim focus to the bustling crabs as they continued to cover him.

And then…

_BOOM!_

A second ear-splitting blast suddenly interrupted his reflection, and the jolting tremor that followed sent the creatures scattering in another panic. Pintel was thrown face-down into the ground with a look of total shock. This impact had been even closer than the last one—practically right over his head—and the flying rocks that it'd knocked free from the ground were landing heavily in front of him, throwing up sandy clouds. Pintel quickly shielded his head from the stony downpour and huddled closer to the ground. Shouts could be heard from the angry shooters, cursing something awful about a cannonball, and the scream of one of them falling backwards off the wall still hung in the air.

Once the momentary confusion was over, Pintel coughed and lifted his gaping-eyed face. The shock wave had thrown him clear from the outcropping, but not far. The makeshift fortress was still perfectly intact just behind him—he could sneak back under without any problem. But the more hopeful side of his mind realized that he wasn't even being shot at, despite his plainly visible location. The shooting pirates were still recovering from the close hit; they didn't notice him lying there.

That was all he needed to know. The devil knew how, but Pintel managed to stagger to his feet at that moment and took off running down the beach in a lop-sided sprint. He could see the rowboats bobbing just a few meters from shore, still in shallow water, still within reach.

"Wait!" he shouted after them in a hoarse voice, stumbling slightly in his efforts. "Wait fer me! Don't go! _Wait!_" They were still within reach…

It all became a huge blur after that. Pintel could feel the cold waves rising around him, slowing him down. The sounds of splashing and dunking drowned out his thoughts as he pushed on, and then the next thing he knew, his hands were clutching the wooden rim of the nearest boat and someone was tugging at his shoulder. Rub's scruffy face and long beard flashed in his vision for a second, and then Pintel could feel splintery planks beneath him, telling the exhausted man that he'd made it.

The last memory he had of the port was a fierce bellow, thick with resentment and throbbing with Scottish aggression, ordering the trigger-happy cutthroats to cease wasting their ammunition. Then the sounds of gunfire died away.

They'd made it. Pintel turned his head to wearily observe the five other crewmen seated and slumped alongside him in the boat. They were all as dazed and beaten down as he was, all panting and dripping wet with sweat and sea water, but they had all gotten away. The _Glass Urchin_'s crew had fought bloodthirsty enemies, cleared stony obstacles, and even grappled with the ocean's tiniest beasts, and it was rowing away with no more than two casualties. The crew had escaped from Pilón.

But no man had the energy left with him to celebrate such a stroke of dumb luck.

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A small but triumphant smile appeared on Yager's lips when he finally spotted the rowboats paddling listlessly in the water, and once he saw that they were indeed drawing closer to their mother ship, he released his bracing grip on their lucky cannon. He glanced over at Wood then, smirking more visibly when the younger man turned to meet his eye.

"…And you were afraid you'd miss out on all the action!"

From the other end of the room, Ragetti giggled softly to himself. That Yager was a funny fellow.

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Don't worry folks. Pinters and Rags will be back together in the next chapter! Author's promise. ;-)


	12. A Moment of Peace

(Disclaimer: Pintel and Ragetti aren't mine.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

Pintel didn't know where he'd found the energy to climb back onto the _Urchin_, but once the rowboats reached their mother ship, he'd been one of the first crewmen to haul himself up the rope ladder that Yager and Wood had lowered for them. A lot of his hurry was brought on by an eagerness to get back on board and get some decent rest, but most of it was from Rub impatiently prodding him up the ladder from behind. In any other situation, Pintel would've gladly argued or just stomped on the other man's hand, but he was far too tired to start another fight tonight. Besides, the voyage was far from over, and he still wanted to have Rub for a comrade in case any more trouble arose. So for the time being, Robert Pintel bit back his ego and allowed the taller fellow to herd him on like a degraded cow.

Once the entire crew was on board, the captain saw fit to make him feel even more degraded.

Pellinore's face was scalding red with anger. "You two!" he snapped with a breathless voice. "You were there when the fight started. What happened?"

Pintel and Rub exchanged cautious glances, then the latter spoke up in a calm enough tone. "I ain't sure, Cap'n."

The livid Englishman stepped closer threateningly. "Are you being perfectly honest with me Mr. Morgan?" he asked with icy suspicion. "Because if you are not, and you're covering for yourself or anyone else, then one of you is rightfully responsible for all of this! Your foolishness and disregard for orders have put our mission and our entire crew in danger, and has cost me my first mate!"

He paused to fume, and turned his smoldering eyes to Pintel. "Will _you_ tell me what happened, Mr. Pintel?"

Pintel hesitated at first, noticing the grim warning stare that Rub sent him, then finally shook his head.

"Ain't got nuffin' t'tell, Cap'n," he replied listlessly. "I didn't see it neither."

The lie clearly didn't sit with Pellinore, and the captain's face grew impossibly dark as he scowled in disgust. Had it not been for his thin and straight form, he could've been mistaken for the unlucky Winchcomb, and Pintel felt the hairs on the back of his neck nervously stand up at the sight of his commander. Then all of a sudden, just as quickly as he showed his frustration, Pellinore turned his back and stormed away towards his cabin.

Rub watched him go and laughed.

"Aye, at least 'e took it well," he said dryly.

Pintel just stared.

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Ragetti knew something was wrong the minute Pintel came stomping down the deck stairs and dragged himself over to his hammock without so much as checking on the boy. Something was eating at his older companion, and the fact that he was ignoring his charge left Ragetti with a rather uncomfortable feeling. Being ignored like this made him think of his mother.

It was the first time he'd ever really stopped to wonder about her since leaving Tortuga, and now that he did, the lad found himself in a debate. He still couldn't quite believe that she'd just abandoned him, at least not for the reasons that'd been told to him. The memories of his early childhood were sketchy, but somehow, from all of those blurry sounds and images, he was almost certain that he had been given a real name.

There was a word she used to say, one besides "kid" or "boy" or any of the other things she called him; a word she would say only to him. But it'd been so long since Ragetti had heard the possible name—_his_ name—that it was all but lost now.

And then there were other memories. Memories of a woman slouched on the floor, lowering her head and clutching her dark hair in trembling hands. She was crying, and through the sobs, Ragetti was sure he could hear her sadly cursing his surname. Cursing the man that she believed was his father.

She'd always seemed troubled, he realized then. His mother had always seemed worried or upset, and every time she'd pushed him away or put him outside, she had always seemed to do so out of a distant heartbreak, and not out of hate. He had no real memory of the selfish and unfeeling woman that his stocky friend spoke of, but she had definitely deserted him, and if Pintel said she was a stupid blighter, then it had to be true. Ragetti frowned to himself and shifted a little underneath the burlap sack, which he was now using for a blanket.

And then something else suddenly occurred to him.

It'd been nearly an hour since Pintel had returned, and although he was lying with his back to the powder barrels, Ragetti could tell from his restless breathing that the man was still awake. The kid paused as he gathered his words, then finally sat up and carefully called out to him.

"'Ey Pintel? …Pintel?"

In the hammock, Pintel snapped his groggy eyes open at the sound of his name, and when he realized it was Ragetti's voice, he reluctantly lifted his head to glance at the boy over his shoulder.

"Wot?" he asked gruffly.

Ragetti edged back slightly. "You 'member what you was sayin' b'fore, 'bout me mum bein' your sister?"

Pintel had to wait for the memory to register in his foggy head. "…Aye. Wot about it?"

The child's voice grew even more curious. "Wouldn't that make _me_ sumfin' to you? Like she is?"

There was another confused pause, then Pintel turned over a little more to give Ragetti an unpleasant glare. "Nah. You're just a pain in the ass right now, not a sworn enemy." There was no hint of humor in his voice whatsoever.

The boy dropped his head in dreary thought as the man rolled away again. He wasn't a stupid blighter yet.

"No, no," he tried again. "I means are we…well, _she's_ your sister, and _you're_ 'er brother…and I'm 'er son. Don't that mean _we're_ sumfin'? The two of us?"

That was when the pressing question finally dawned on Pintel.

Relatives. The little sot wanted to know if he and the pirate were relatives.

He lifted his head to sneer back at Ragetti again. "Aye," he growled, "I guess it would." This said, he let his head thump into the hammock once more.

For a moment, this seemed to satisfy Ragetti, but then another question came to him. "'Ey Pintel?"

Pintel rolled his yellowing eyes impatiently, and turned fully over to face the boy. He arched his eyebrows curtly. "Wot?"

"What are we?"

"We're uncle and nephew. Now shut up." Then he rolled away for the third time.

Ragetti looked up at the balding man in silence, awed by this revelation. He hadn't been able to make the connection before for some reason, and now that it'd been made for him, he saw Pintel in a completely different light. He wasn't just a companion—he was family! What was more, he was the only family that the lad had left now. A peaceful feeling came over Ragetti then, and the excitement of that evening's "cannon incident" finally came back to him in a happy wave. He started to lie back against the ship wall again, and as he did so, he glanced at Pintel one more time. Then his eyes grew wide.

There was something crawling on the hammock; a small flicker of movement that barely stood out in the darkness. Ragetti sat up nervously this time.

"Pintel? …Pintel…"

That was about all the older man could take. Pintel growled audibly and spun around much faster than before, propping himself up with a tightly clenched fist as he scowled at the boy.

"Lemme explain 'at a little better to yeh!" he hissed irately. "_I'm_ the uncle, which means I'm in charge, and _you're_ the nephew, which means you do wot I tells yeh to do! Now when _I_, the uncle, tells _you_, the nephew, to shut up, _you shuts up_! Now you close your ugly li'l chicken-lip mouth, or I'm gonna _nail_ it shut!"

Ragetti nodded timidly and huddled in a quiet little heap. Satisfied by this, Pintel turned his back for the final time and plopped heavily down into his hammock, trying to fall asleep. That would teach that little thickhead not to bother him.

Then the thing that Ragetti'd tried to warn him about crawled up onto the tired man's back and slowly continued on up to his shoulder. A second later, it reached the back of his neck, and when Pintel felt something small poking at his balding head, his temper completely went up in flames.

"Alright!" he barked, reaching back fiercely. "That's it, you little—AAAAAAAHH!!"

There was a loud thump after that as Pintel tumbled out of his hammock, and Ragetti quickly pulled the burlap sack over his dirty blonde head to hide in the midst of the commotion. His uncle was tripping all over the floor in a silly panic.

"Get it off me! Get it off me!" Then Pintel made another unmasculine shriek and flung off the tiny cause for his fuss, much to the amusement of a nearby crewman who'd been woken by the uproar.

Apparently, not all of the crabs on Pilón had stayed behind on the beach.

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Soon to be updated!


	13. Approaching Danger

(Disclaimer: Pinters and Rags don't belong to me. Neither does the entire Caribbean.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

Pintel didn't even glance at the dazzling morning sky as he dragged himself to the stern of the ship; half of his vision was covered by his drooping eyelids, and he was too busy trying to keep his heavy head from clunking onto the rail beside him to care about the scenery. He'd only gotten four hours of sleep since the departure from Cuba—Pellinore had ordered the crew back on deck before the poor pirate could get any more.

Despite his weariness, Pintel had still stopped to check on Ragetti before leaving the crew's quarters. He'd stumbled over to the powder barrels, using his exhaustion as an excuse to lean on them, and glanced down to see his scrawny little charge sleeping peacefully under the old burlap cover. Pintel had regarded the boy with silent envy, then turned and left him before anyone noticed the stocky crewman standing there in thought.

That'd happened over an hour ago, and Pintel was still more or less wishing he could trade places with Ragetti.

The drowsy sailor stifled a yawn as he made his way up the steps to the quarterdeck and stopped at the starboard ratline, one of the four massive rope ladders that led to the crow's nests. Pintel paused once to glance cautiously at Pellinore, who was standing tentatively at the wheel behind him. When he saw that the captain was preoccupied with his navigations, the balding man then reached for the rigging beside the ratline and allowed his thoughts to wander again.

Pintel decided that he had no opinion of Ragetti anymore. In the course of three days, the child had gone from being a silly mutt to a problematic burden, and had even become a moronic scholar along the way. Having an opinion about him was almost impossible at this point, and Pintel was just too tired to attempt the feat this morning. He'd never been particularly attached to the boy, and last evening's strenuous mission had turned his detachment into a temporary indifference. Even his goal of besting Rebecca couldn't make him think better of Ragetti's companionship at that moment.

"Is there a reason why you're staring at me, Mr. Pintel?" Pellinore's voice suddenly demanded.

Pintel jumped in response; it hadn't even occurred to him before this that he was still staring at the captain. Regardless of his intent, the pirate nervously sparked to life when the Englishman's gaze fixed on him.

He shook his head quickly. "No! No no no, Cap'n! I were just…uh…" He frantically tried to produce an excuse, but Pellinore immediately stepped closer, keeping one stiff hand on the wheel.

"I'm sensing a bit of mistrust on your part." The captain seemed rather paranoid now that Winchcomb was gone. "Is it because of the disaster at Pilón?"

Pintel was struggling to stay calm. "…It weren't a disaster like yeh finks," he said timidly, not wanting to answer the question. "We got away wif the profits, after all."

Pellinore shifted his eyes slightly. "Indeed."

He looked less angry now. That was good.

The captain paused, then he stepped back to stand at the wheel. "Mr. Pintel, are you familiar with the Lord's Book?"

"…The wot?"

"The Bible, Mr. Pintel."

The balding man wrinkled his brow in confusion, looking almost as dim as Ragetti. "…No, Cap'n."

The other didn't seem surprised by this. "A noble text. Wise, assuring…and it has a great deal to say about the subject of loyalty."

There was a particular emphasis on the last word that made Pintel shifted his feet uncomfortably. The captain inhaled slowly and continued.

"It's a difficult virtue to master. A demanding one. Loyalty requires honesty and sacrifice, but a man can give neither when he knows not where his loyalty lies." The last part was spoken in a lighter tone, as if the Englishman were reciting it.

Pintel could see where the speech was going. "…You don't 'ave to worry 'bout a mutiny from me, Cap'n," he murmured as he averted his eyes. It was the truth, but Pintel had a feeling that this declaration stemmed more from fear than loyalty.

Pellinore squinted at the horizon. "I didn't think so."

The captain went silent then, showing Pintel that the conversation was over. Once this sank in, the stocky crewman turned away to awkwardly resume his work by the ratline, but his silent morning was soon interrupted once again.

"Captain!"

Pintel and Pellinore's heads both snapped up to spot Owl Eyes waving to them from the crow's nest and pointing to the west, behind the _Urchin_. "There's a ship be approaching us!"

Pellinore strained his eyes to see the cook. "What kind of ship is it?"

Owl Eyes gestured widely. "Is a _BIG_ ship! Much sails, very fast! Travels on water like lightening!"

Pintel rolled his eyes and glanced at the rigging. Maybe he could blow that little squawker overboard if he moved the sails just right. It'd ensure a quiet morning at least. Beside him, Pellinore stepped back to follow Owl Eyes's direction.

"Take the wheel," he ordered to nobody in particular. Pintel turned away with another yawn and let Nequom claim the task. As the captain came to a stop at the Urchin's rail, he reached inside his blue overcoat and drew out a spyglass that looked brand new. There was a pause as he peered through the instrument, searching for the other ship on the horizon.

And then Pintel was sure he saw the Englishman spring clear out of his skin.

Pellinore spun around, suddenly hysterical. "Raise the sails higher!" he shouted to his startled crew. "All of you get to it! Pick up speed!"

"What is it?" Cormac demanded from the lower deck.

"The _Vasudeva's Folly_!"

Behind Cormac, Ashby twisted his face in confusion. "The _what?_"

"Scarborough!" Pellinore snapped as he frantically took the wheel again. "It's Scarborough's ship!"

Pintel's eyes immediately bulged like saucers and he made a double take towards the stern of the ship, suddenly wide awake. _Scarborough?_

"How can yeh tell?" Cormac asked calmly. It was like the man simply refused to be concerned by all this.

"It doesn't matter!" Pellinore blasted in response. "I recognize it. Now raise the sails!"

"The sails're already as 'igh as they'll go!" Rub shouted back. "This filthy bucket ain't built for speed!"

Wood suddenly jumped in. "Then why don't we fight?"

Yager nodded and pointed to the below deck staircase. "Aye! The cannons've done us a load of good already."

This suggestion only horrified Pellinore even more. "_NO!_ Don't!"

"_Don't?_" Pintel finally chimed in. "That Scarborough'll gut us alive if 'e catches us! Why can't we fight 'im?"

"Because the _Folly_ has double-barreled cannons!" the captain answered unhesitatingly. "Any fire we open on her will come back to us twice as strong! We won't last!"

"If we open fire now, she might not be around to fire back!" Yager argued reasonably.

"_NO CANNONS!_"

Pintel clutched the rigging as he tried to stay calm. How could this have happened? Everything had been going so well in the beginning; Pellinore had looked like a promising captain, his plan had seemed failsafe, and a tidy profit had been guaranteed. Now, that once charismatic captain was on the verge of absolute panic, his plan had failed horribly, and the only thing that seemed to be guaranteed was a bloody burial at sea. The thought made Pintel's head spin. It was almost too much for him to grasp in the midst of the crew's heated argument.

Pellinore wet his lips and looked back as Owl Eyes reminded him of their rapidly gaining enemy. Then a desperate plan came to him at last and he turned to face his tensed crew again.

"…Empty the ship. Get rid of everything!"

"What?" Cormac asked, puzzled.

"We'll move faster if we're lighter! Get rid of our cargo! Guns, tables, barrels, anything that isn't nailed in place! Throw it all over! _NOW!_"

The crew finally took to these orders and made a mad rush below deck. Those that couldn't fit through the crowded passageway decided to remain outside and do away with the array of supplies lying around them. Buckets and mops, grapples and ropes, crates and ammunition—nothing was spared from the sea's waiting jaws. Pintel and Rub were even shooting at the chain on the _Urchin_'s left anchor, hoping to remove at least one of the two giant weights. But it was just as they were working towards this that something very serious dawned on Pintel.

He could hear the rest of the crew below him, shuffling back and forth wildly and shouting unheard orders to each other. They were tearing everything apart down there. The balding man could just picture it now: the whole lot of them, dragging away cannons, emptying supply cabinets, snatching up stray weapons…and picking up barrels.

Gun powder barrels.

Pintel cursed to himself. Ragetti! That stupid twit! That brainless little…he was still down there! The crew was going to—

The pirate was biting his sleeve in horror now. He had to do something! If that scrawny bag of bones was found, they could both be drifting home on those barrels! He cursed again and sped off, ignoring Rub's indignant shouts and frantically hissing that foolish child's name under his breath.

Pintel had to get below deck—fast.

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Ragetti couldn't see anything.

It'd all happened so fast. The first thing he'd heard was the shouting above him, which got his attention right away. Then he'd heard the thundering footsteps all racing to one side of the ship, and had seen the rowdy crewmen stampeding down the stairs into view. They were all going crazy, grabbing anything in sight and roaring at each other like starving and raving animals. It'd frightened him, and even the solitude of the round wooden barriers in front of him couldn't snuff out that overwhelming fright. And so he'd done the only other thing he could think of: he'd snatched up that old burlap sack that he'd come to know so well and scrambled back inside it.

The crew was still in the room; he could still hear them yelling. The boy cringed at the sound of falling wood and curled himself even tighter into a ball. They were all around him…they were all around him…

There was a loud scraping sound off to his right just then, and the lad realized that one of the barrels had been removed. A second later, two feet staggered to a halt in front of him and he was fiercely wrenched upward. Ragetti felt the burlap walls tighten around him, and his body immediately left the floor as he was tilted upright. The world spun for a terrifying moment, and he thumped heavily against a softer, rapidly moving surface—a man's back!

The boy jammed one of his bony fists into his mouth to hold back a yelp. Somebody was carrying him off!

And he could only hope with all of his pathetic little being that the man was Pintel…

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Reviews wanted!


	14. Discovery

(Disclaimer: I own nothing.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

"Outta' me way!"

Pintel forced his way down the stairs, elbowing several crewman out of the way in the process, then staggered onto the crowded wooden floor. He was below deck now, and he was in the crew's quarters. There was another second of hesitation as he looked around, then he clenched his jaw and resumed his desperate search. Ragetti had to be down here somewhere.

Wood came barreling past him just then, looking like he wanted to punch the next person who gave him an order. Pintel scowled mentally at the younger man and made his way over to where the gunpowder barrels were stacked. When he found it though, the spot was completely empty. The barrels—and the cargo they'd been concealing—were gone. The pirate felt a wave of nausea hit him as this fact sank in.

And then he realized what Wood had been carrying.

Pintel did an enormous double-take and gawked at the rapidly departing crewman. Wood had a heavy burlap sack slung over his shoulder, and the weight of the load seemed to be slowing him down slightly. Pintel squinted harder at the sack. It looked old, like it'd just been snatched off the muddy street, and it was large. Large enough to hold a child…

The balding sailor could feel his heart stop. That was the sack. That was the same burlap sack that he'd used to sneak Ragetti on board the ship, and Wood was carrying it away. The powder barrels were gone and there was no sign of Ragetti anywhere. That boy had been the only person who'd used or even seen the sack since it'd been brought on board.

Another feeling of dread hit Pintel and he cursed. He'd found the lad. Then without another thought, he turned and took off in the same direction that he'd come from.

Back across the room, up the steps and out onto the deck. Wood was taking a straight route to the port rail, and Pintel was quickly gaining on him in his haste. Finally, not two meters from the edge, the older pirate caught up to his target and grabbed the end of the sack.

"'Ere lad!" he chirped nervously, "How's 'bout I takes care o' this for yeh?"

Wood spun around with confusion. "What're you doing?" he demanded as he wrenched the load away. "Get off!"

But Pintel was persistent. "No no no!" He latched onto the sack again, yanking Wood backwards sharply. "You—eh—you doesn't know 'ow t'toss it!"

"I don't know how to _toss_ it?" the dreadlocked man echoed, staring at the other like he was a short, bald loony.

"Aye! Yeh sees, you admits it!" Pintel pointed out wildly. He tugged the burlap bag harder. "Yeh ain't got the arms for it! Let a full-grown fellow 'ave at this load!" He was trying to stay calm. He _had_ to stay calm.

Wood's baffled face suddenly twisted into a snarl. "Let go! Let go of it!" They were practically in a tug-of-war over the sack now. "Let go, you daft idiot!"

"It's my bag! I'm entitled to 'old onto it!" Pintel was trying to hide his desperation under a growl. The two pirates had never liked each other, and it was finally starting to show at this point in the struggle. "_You_ let go, whelp!"

But Wood had a fuse even shorter than his opponent's, and when the shorter man refused to leave him alone, that fuse reached its end with a nasty spark.

"_I said let go!_"

Pintel barely had time to react. One second, Wood was yanking at his end of the sack with a death grip, and the next, he had his sword drawn. The gritty blade swung out threateningly, and in an instant of blind panic, its stocky target did the first thing his instincts told him to do. He ducked behind the sack.

_WOOSH!_

"OW!"

The sharp little voice squealed the moment the sword connected with the bag, and Pintel jerked back up with realization when he heard it. Wood heard the yelp as well, but he hadn't been expecting it. His hands sprang open with shock, and his adversary was sent stumbling back as the sack slipped from their grasp.

No sooner had this happened than the contents of the bag came tumbling dizzily out into view.

Unhurt, Ragetti hit the deck with a sickening thud, and nearly every crewman on deck whipped his head around like a shot at the sound. The boy's arrival onto the scene was as sudden and startling as a mad demon's, and nothing could hide him from their disbelieving eyes anymore. Still, the scrawny child sought his protection, and the moment he dropped onto the planks, he sprang to his feet and latched fearfully onto Pintel's arm. But his older companion shook him off roughly.

"Get off me!" Pintel snapped brusquely, panicking. He was still trying to hide his part in their exposed plot. "Get off!"

When Ragetti latched onto his heavy sleeve a second time, the angry buccaneer only flung him away even more harshly, sending the boy crashing painfully onto the deck again. Wood stiffened noticeably at this.

But even this mistreatment wasn't enough, and Ragetti immediately wrapped his bony arms around Pintel's once more. The boy's terrified eyes were glued to something ahead of them, and seeing this, his indignant defender looked up to follow his gaze. Then he froze.

High above them on the quarterdeck, Pellinore was glowering back.

Pintel's nervous eyes grew wide, and he frantically searched his spinning head for something to say. Finally, the cornered crewman grinned sheepishly and forced out a chuckle.

"Uh…" He lifted his arms in an animated shrug. "Kids! Never know wot they'll do next!"

But the captain's cold, angry face didn't falter.

"Captain Pellinore!" Owl Eyes shouted again from the crow's nest. "We doesn't be gaining much speed! That _Vasudeva's Folly_'s coming closer to us!"

The Englishman removed his glare from Pintel at last and looked up worriedly at the cook. "She's catching up?"

"Yes! Very close, very bad, Sir!"

Pellinore lowered his head and immediately turned fearful. It seemed that the captain was out of ideas now. Again, he regarded his perplexed crew.

"…Continue with the plan. Throw away anything you have with you!"

The crew set back to it without question, leaving Pintel and Ragetti standing tensely by the rail, alone. From that spot, the older of the two schemers could see the Folly's sails on the horizon. It was an imposing vessel, and its high, unmoving sails and silent black deck made the sight of it nothing short of frightening. And it was rapidly growing closer with the blowing of the wind.

Ragetti gaped at this newest threat unblinkingly, still clutching his companion's sleeve. Pintel stepped back with caution, equally awestruck. There was no way the _Glass Urchin_ was going to outrun that thing, and he had a feeling that Scarborough wasn't in a better mood than he'd been in six hours ago…

Pintel glanced down at Ragetti just then, and quickly moved the boy back with a nudge of his arm. It was just the two of them now, and once the clinging ten-year-old was a good distance away from his waist, the older man reached down with his free hand and defensively drew his last weapon—his cutlass.

This was going to be bad.

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	15. The Horrible Truth

(Disclaimer: I own nothing.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

The ships were almost parallel to each other now. The _Urchin_'s crew had given up on their plan to empty the ship, realizing it would never make their ship fast enough, and the _Vasudeva's Folly_ had taken advantage of this setback by picking up its speed. Now the daunting vessel had all but closed in on her victim, and the towering figure of Scarborough himself could be seen at the wheel.

Pintel was still standing nervously by the opposite rail, with Ragetti still fearfully clutching his arm. The lad gaped ahead at the mysterious intruder for a tense moment, then lifted his head and carefully tugged on his friend's sleeve.

"Who's that?" When he got no answer, he tugged harder. "Pintel?"

"Shh!" the older man hissed with a nasty warning glare. "Quiet!"

"Who is 'e?" the boy whispered then, determined to know.

"Scarborough." Pintel grumbled impatiently. He twitched his sword arm slightly and stared guardedly at the Scotsman again.

Ragetti studied him as well. "…Looks big," he commented, oddly calm. "Kinda' nasty too. And scary. Really scary. I wonders if 'e—"

"Alright, shut up!" Pintel snapped with an angry jerk of his arm that rattled the boy. He was having enough trouble staying calm even without this unnerving commentary. Heart racing, the burly pirate craned his neck sharply as the _Folly_'s captain loudly voiced his arrival.

"Captain Pellinore!" the fiery-haired giant roared mockingly. A fiendish sneer of a grin was stretched across his face. "It seems yeh're a bit unfamiliar with navigatin' these waters!"

All thirteen heads of the _Urchin_'s crew spun around to stare at their leader just then. Pellinore was twitching in his boots, and clutched the wheel with white knuckles. He met his rival's taunting glare reluctantly.

"Why have you come here?" he demanded.

"Yeh're hardly in the position to be askin' questions—_I'm_ the one with the upper hand in it, after all!"

"From your point of view," the Englishman added dully. Then he called out louder, "You should not have come. Our business has been squared and settled, and _I_ have the upper hand. Do you understand no code of conduct?"

"There be only one code that I care to understand," the Scotsman sneered proudly. "And it says 'take what yeh can and give nothin' back.'"

Pintel saw Pellinore stiffen. "You'll do no such thing!"

"I'm afraid it'll take a great deal more than that to convince my crew likewise, Captain Pellinore. These gents are all itchin' to collect a bit of profit, and yeh're just the fellow to collect it from at the moment." When the Englishman shifted his stance—nervously it seemed—Scarborough added, "It's a shame _yer_ crew'll be losing the prize, after all their efforts to claim it. Perhaps it's best that yeh never told them its contents."

This comment got Pintel's attention, and his eyes shifted over to his captain a second time. The black-eyed devil was right; Pellinore hadn't even spoken about the black case since they'd found it. What _was_ inside it? Suddenly, his suspicions were reawakened.

Of course, the Englishman was unable to deny this clever accusation, and so he stood a little straighter instead.

"This is your last chance, Captain Scarborough!" he called. "Leave us or die!"

The towering fiend stretched his grin even wider and turned to his cutthroat crew. "Set to it, lads."

Pintel felt his blood go cold.

The attack began swiftly with a hail of gunfire. The _Urchin_ crewmen all sprang back in shock, narrowly dodging the treacherous shots. Even Pellinore had to jerk away from the wheel to avoid a hit and the burst of splinters that followed. A second later, their enemies took advantage of this temporary confusion and went to the ropes. Twenty snarling men swung over the water, crossing the threshold from ship to ship, and came down hard on deck with their weapons ready. The _Folly_'s crew was aboard the _Glass Urchin_.

And then the fighting started.

Pintel scooted back frantically. "Let go!" he shouted.

Ragetti stared up at him, puzzled. "What?"

"Let go! Hands off!" Then he shoved the boy away. No sooner had he done so than one of the attacking pirates caught sight of the lone crewman and charged towards him.

Ragetti yelped and shrank back further when the two swords collided, making a gut-knotting clang that filled his ears. Dazed, the boy grasped the ship rail and stared in awe at the sudden duel unfolding just in front of him. The attacker was larger and obviously more experienced, but Pintel was the quicker thinker, and now that both of his arms were free, the two were an even match.

_CLANG! _

_SLASH! _

_WHOOSH!_

The taller man swung his sword sharply, and Pintel practically had to dance to avoid getting slashed open by it. Momentarily out of reach, he growled up at his opponent, then lunged again with a newfound vigor. The stocky pirate was anything but brave, but he was unbearably fed up with just staring at death at this point.

_SLASH! SLASH!_

_CLANG!_

The attacker's battle experience couldn't hold a candle to Pintel's temper.

"Yaaaahh!"

With two ferocious motions, the balding pirate violently sent his enemy's sword flying and jammed his own weapon deep into the man's stomach. Pintel's victory was short-lived though; Ragetti bolted back over to him the instant their attacker was down.

The older man grabbed the boy by the back of his collar before he could latch onto his arm again. Didn't this little idiot get it? They were in the middle of a blasted _battle!_

"No no!" he jabbed a scolding finger in Ragetti's face. "_You_ go below deck!"

"But—"

"I ain't yer body guard, runt!" Pintel blasted back. Once again, he was in a fiery rage, but this time he felt completely alone and aidless, all thanks to this kid. "Now get outta' 'ere b'fore any more chumps spot us!"

Ragetti cowered warily. "What if they comes down after?"

"They ain't gonna go below deck," Pintel explained irately, "because _our_ crew is _on_ deck! _We're_ the ones they're goin' after, not you, so get!"

But the boy refused to budge. That was the last straw.

Pintel's eyes smoldered black, and the wild din of the surrounding combat died in his ears. This boy had cost him everything. His personal freedom, his fellow crewmen's respect, and even his captain's support…all of it was gone now because this foolish, useless child had latched onto him and refused to let go. Ragetti had weighed him down this entire voyage, and Pintel wasn't about to let himself be weighed down in the midst of combat.

The anger in his eyes nearly burst into flames, and in an instant of unbound fury, he lunged at Ragetti and raised his sword. "_Get!_"

Ragetti stumbled back but locked his gaze onto Pintel's, trying to ignore the threatening blade. "But I don't wanna!"

Pintel bared his rotting teeth. "I don't give a rat's ass wot you wants! You got that?! _I'm_ in the thick end of a fight 'ere, and _I_ don't want _you _anywhere near me!"

"_Why not?_" Ragetti shouted, revealing his desperation.

"Because I've got as much use for your scrawny hide as your stinkin' mother did!"

That hit the mark.

Ragetti looked horrified. Silence seized him, and he stood frozen with his thin arms dangling at his sides. He looked like the same hopeless child that Pintel had first met on the docks three days ago, and when he saw no remorse on the older man's blazing features, the lost, broken look suddenly returned to his blue eyes. He had been forsaken once more.

Pintel hadn't even realized what he'd said until after the words leapt out. His temper had completely overtaken him, and in his anger, he'd said the worst possible thing to Ragetti: the truth. It was the truth. He _wasn't_ any better than Rebecca. He didn't care about this child, and he never had. And after he realized that he'd said these horrible words, Pintel also realized that he didn't regret them.

This terrible frozen moment of theirs could have lasted for days, but it was abruptly cut short as across the water, a crewman who had stayed behind on the _Vasudeva's Folly_ held a torch to his cannon's wick.

_BOOM! BOOM!_

An _Urchin_ crewman's voice rang out. "Watch out!" But Pintel and Ragetti were too absorbed in their awful openness to hear the warning.

_SMASH!_

One of the twin cannonballs sailed towards the two, passing almost exactly between them and slamming into the ship's rail. Pintel felt a gust of wind envelop him as the collision threw him backwards, sending him forcefully into the mast. He connected with the giant wooden pillar with a sickening jolt, and fell heavily to the deck. Pintel lay still then, numb and winded for the moment.

He never even saw where Ragetti had landed.

--

--


	16. Turning the Tables

(Disclaimer: I do not own Pintel and Ragetti.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

At first, the boy thought he was suffocating.

His lungs weren't working. There was no air left inside of them, and try as he might, he couldn't get himself to breathe back in. Then suddenly, a tiny wisp of replenishment snuck down his throat, and Ragetti ceased his floundering as he began to realize what'd happened to him.

He was up on the quarterdeck, where he'd landed flat on his stomach. Something had thrown him up there, an explosion of some sort, but it'd happened so fast that he couldn't remember it. All he could remember was Pintel…

Tears stung his eyes, and Ragetti quickly shook the thought away. It couldn't be true. It was the explosion. The explosion had him confused. Pintel hadn't said that awful thing to him; the blast had just mixed up his little head and was making him _think_ Pintel had said it. That had to be what'd happened.

But somehow, Ragetti knew that it wasn't.

That was when the rest of his senses kicked back in, and he immediately became aware of the other men around him, fighting. He saw that Rub fellow off to his left, sparring against a man with a badly burned scalp. On the main deck nearby, he could see Yager and Wood's heads, standing back-to-back as they each faced separate enemies. Below him near the steps of the quarterdeck, Ragetti saw two men that he didn't recognize. One of them was obviously an _Urchin_ crewman, as the pair was dueling violently, and he guessed it was the one with short black dreadlocks; that fellow wasn't grinning menacingly like the Scarborough crewmen, and his opponent was. Curious, the lad stared at them, awaiting the outcome of their struggle.

Less than a minute later, the show was over. The grinning pirate fiercely knocked his adversary's sword arm to the side and finished him off with a zealous upward stab to the gut. Ragetti gawked at the unlucky crewman, bobbing his head slightly as he watched the lifeless body topple to the deck. Then his bulging eyes darted back to the unfazed victor, who, seeing that his adversary was now disposed of, turned around to glare up the steps. Ragetti gulped and recoiled, but it was too late to hide. The invader had spotted him.

The boy immediately stumbled back and onto his feet. His new pursuer was already prowling up the steps after him, and Ragetti was alone and unarmed; the only thing left for the young stowaway to do was run. And so he cringed and swiftly backed away from the threatening figure, too frightened to turn his back to the man.

The enemy pirate sneered sadistically. "Come 'ere, yeh snivelin' little rat!"

But Ragetti continued to scoot away from him. He had to keep moving, had to keep backing away and stay out of reach…

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the unpleasant feeling of hard wood behind him, and the antsy lad jumped. He whipped his head around then to see the ship's stern rail staring apathetically back at him. Realization hit him at that awful instant, and Ragetti felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He was cornered.

Ahead of him, the enemy pirate swung his sword.

_WHOOSH! _

…And Ragetti ducked.

_SMASH!_

The blade connected sharply with the rail, splitting the rotted timber in two and sending chips of wood flying. Ragetti darted to the side and sprang to his feet, frantically running past his attacker. As he did so, the man lashed out with his foot and kicked the boy's feet out from under him. Ragetti went down, but his momentum carried him a short distance before he actually hit the deck. One of his arms slammed against the ship's wheel—which was oddly unmanned—and as he fell, he unintentionally clutched the steering instrument and turned it a sharp ninety degrees to the right.

The enemy pirate continued to pursue him. Ragetti scrambled away from the wheel on all fours, keeping his eyes locked onto the unfriendly blade behind him. Unfortunately, the lad was so preoccupied with watching his foe that he failed to see where he was going, and an instant later found himself tumbling down the same set of stairs that had separated them before. Even so, he hit the main deck fleeing.

Ragetti heard his attacker laugh at the mishap, and he turned again to see the man barging down the steps after him with his sword held above his head. The boy tried to run further, but a strange force suddenly swayed the ship and threw off his balance again. The deck tilted to the left, sending the unlucky child toppling to his knees. Then his chaser finally caught up to him, and with a triumphant smirk, prepared to finish off the little runt.

But the steering wheel had been turned, and the ship was still responding accordingly.

Ragetti's eyes bulged with horror when he saw the danger coming, and he instinctively dove down with his arms covering his head. Seeing this, the enemy pirate stopped in his tracks and turned, wondering what had earned such a panicked reaction from the whelp.

The boom swung rapidly towards him, giving him the answer he'd been looking for.

BAM!

Ragetti lifted his head just in time to see his screaming, airborne enemy sail out of sight over the _Urchin_'s rail, and to hear the loud splash that followed.

Then the boy leapt up and continued running.

-------------------------------------------------------

Pintel was buried in combat.

Swing here, stab there, kick this man, beat that man. He wielded two weapons now; the metal butt of his empty pistol was round and heavy, and he was gripping the device by its barrel and brandishing it like a club. His trusted sword was still grasped tightly in his other hand, its blade now dripping with dark blood. A mad, vicious light blazed in his yellowed eyes.

A _Folly_ crewman lunged at him just then, and Pintel accepted the challenge with a sneer and another swipe of his sword. His foe raised his cutlass as well, blocking the blow, and the two stumbled to find their footing. For several seconds, they knew nothing but the sound of clashing weapons and the blinding glare of the blades.

Then just like that, their swords were locked together again and their faces were just a hand's width apart. Somehow, the sight of his adversary's superior snarl snapped Pintel out of his warrior mode, and the stocky pirate abruptly remembered how terrified of battle he really was.

His sword started to waver slightly; the other man's blade was inching closer. Both of Pintel's hands were preoccupied with this bizarre arm-wrestling contest, ruling out the option of bludgeoning his enemy with the pistol butt, and so he allowed his anxious gaze to wander for the moment as he grappled for an idea. His searching eyes immediately lowered, and a thought came to him. The other pirate's legs were wide apart.

Pintel bared his teeth again, bluffing ferocity, and as soon as he regained his opponent's full attention, the balding schemer swiftly drew up his leg…and kneed him square in the groin.

The challenging man's face suddenly didn't look quite as intimidating as he keeled over forward. Finishing him off was hardly even a chore after that.

No sooner had Pintel disposed of his foe than Wood's fiery red hair flashed into view, followed closely by Yager's green bandanna. The pair was on the hunt, and seeing their fellow crewman, they both skidded to a halt beside him.

"How many men have we lost?" the older of the two asked. Pintel was a bit surprised to hear Yager speaking to him at first.

He looked around then, as if he was trying to take a quick count. "Don't know," he answered. "I seen two at least. Gill an' Burby."

"We've got to get the crew together," Yager went on. "We're out-numbered as it is—casualties are only gonna hurt our chances."

Pintel frowned and thought back to the near failure in his last battle encounter. "We can't keep this up fer much longer."

Yager looked at him urgently. "The way we see it, we won't have to if we can take out the right person."

Pintel just stared at him, too dazed from his fighting to think. "Wot d'yeh mean?"

"Cut off the serpent's head and the body dies," Yager elaborated slowly. "We kill Scarborough, and his crew won't know what to do. They'll have no orders to follow."

Pintel's expression was one of utter shock. "...'Ow would we do it?"

"Go onto his ship and kill him!" Wood jumped in. "It isn't far!"

yager nodded. "All we need is some backup, but we're gonna run out of it fast if we put this off for too long."

By now, the balding man could feel another wave of panic coming over him. _Go onto Scarborough's ship?_ It was crazy! It was suicide! Only this brain-dead duo could think that would work! There had to be a way out of it. No suicide attempt was completely fool-proof after all!

Finally, he stammered out, "Cap'n Pellinore ain't gonna sit wif that plan, you know."

"Too bad he's not here to tell us that himself," Wood said snidely. He nodded towards the quarterdeck. Pintel turned to follow his gaze, and to his surprise, saw that the spot was completely unoccupied.

He squinted up at the empty wheel, then scanned the crowd around him. The captain was nowhere in sight. "Where is 'e?"

"None of the places we've looked in, that's for sure," Yager replied darkly.

Pintel was frozen in thought. No captain. No leader. There was nobody in sight to take charge of the crew's desperate situation; no authority figure. What'd happened to Pellinore? He couldn't be _gone_, could he? It didn't seem likely. A smart fellow like that had to have some sense in battle. And yet…there was no sign of the Englishman anywhere on deck.

For a moment, Pintel thought nothing. He was too confused to. There was no bloody captain! But then, something else dawned on him. If he was really this lost with a captain that was just _missing_, then a crewman with a _dead_ captain…well, _that_ was clear enough even unsaid. He paused and studied Yager and Wood's determined faces. Maybe they really were on to something.

Pintel finally nodded then, looking down. "Aye. We try an' kill Scarborough."

Yager's face gleamed with silent anticipation. "Let's find some more of the crew then."

--

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soon to be updated!


	17. A Costly Sacrifice

(Disclaimer: Pintel and Ragetti don't belong to anybody but Disney.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

Judging from his encounter with the pirate on the quarterdeck, Ragetti decided that being on this level of the ship was unsafe. However, after seeing two of the Scarborough crewmen barge downstairs—and considering the fact that he'd just spent the past forty-eight hours hiding in the dark behind a stack of gunpowder barrels—the boy also decided that he didn't want to go below deck again either. And so, he decided to take refuge in the only other part of the ship that was left. Finally reaching the _Glass Urchin_'s starboard side, Ragetti hoisted himself up onto the rail and eagerly began clambering up his chosen pathway to safety: the ratlines.

Climbing the giant rope ladder was about as simple as it looked, and the skinny lad's natural limberness and relative weightlessness made it even easier. He practically flew up those interwoven lines like a spider monkey, but his thin legs slipped through the wide gaps a few times and slowed his pace. Even so, Ragetti found the feat exciting, and it sparked an incredible enthusiasm inside of him that he swore he'd never felt before; for the first time in his life, he was genuinely having fun.

That was the appeal of piracy: that sense of adventure and rebelliousness that every man secretly sought in life, placed within his reach for barely a price. It was that feeling of unlimited freedom that most men had to die for, but could now be achieved in life with just the help of a mast and eight sails. Piracy was a way of life that knew no limits; it was bound neither by law nor land, nor even the most basic human fear. And in Ragetti's case, he was all but defying the very laws of gravity by climbing those ratlines high above the deck. The boy grinned to himself as he stared at the men fighting far below him—it didn't really seem as bad from up here.

Then about halfway up to the crow's nest, he stopped his ascent. Ragetti clutched the ropes with his hands, sliding his legs through two of the rungs to let them dangle in the air, and then carefully lowered himself to sit securely on the ladder. He was going to save some freedom for later.

Safe at last, he continued to gaze down at the drama on deck.

----------------------------------------------------

"This way! Come on!"

Pintel squared his jaw as he picked up his pace. The _Glass Urchin_ had been turned to the right somehow during the course of the fight, and was now facing the _Vasudeva's Folly_ at an odd angle. This made for a battle charge that was over three times longer, as well as three times more treacherous. Rub and Ashby had joined in on the plot, and their band of five was starting to become more noticeable to the enemy pirates.

Rub's head snapped to the left. "Arrr!" Then he screeched to a stop and clashed swords with yet another opponent. In the end, he only had time to knock the man aside and run to catch up with the others. It would take all five of them and more to make Yager's plan work.

Finally, the group made it to the bow of their ship. Some of the rigging hung limply in front of them, conveniently cut loose from the masts by the variety of pistol shots and cutlasses that'd been rampaging about on board for the past ten minutes. Pintel teetered a little when he saw the huge watery gap between the two vessels. Swinging across it on those ratty severed ropes was going to be a long shot. Unfortunately, it was the only shot they had right now, and so it would have to do. The howl of more approaching battle cries only further prompted the five crewmen to act.

Wood was the first one to attempt the stunt. Following Yager's advice, he leapt straight up, catching the lowest rope in one hand, and tugged it down a little closer to the deck. Then he took a few wary steps back, and with a running start, he sprang wildly into the air. The other four all watched as the young man swung ungracefully over the waves and towards the other ship. But none of them would get to see if he made it.

Pintel glanced behind him just in time to see the horde coming. "Swords!" he shouted impulsively, and an instant later, he was caught in the scuffle once more. The sounds of more scraping blades behind him told the stocky pirate that his fellows were now in the same situation as well. Wood would have to hold his own for a while.

_CLANG! _

_SLASH! _

_CLANG!_

Swing here, stab there, jab this way, slash that way; Pintel was buried in combat again. It was no different than the position he'd been in five minutes ago, except that this time, he and his remaining three companions were being directly targeted. The _Folly_'s crew could see that an attempt to board their ship was underway, and that knowledge seemed to fuel them even more in their attack. Pintel gritted his teeth and resumed fighting, lashing out randomly at the attackers surrounding him.

But no sooner had he set to this bleak task than a single adversary made his presence known to the short crewman. A tall, hostile figure forced his way onto the scene, shoving aside a clueless comrade in the process, and slammed his sword haltingly against Pintel's. The balding man froze and stared up at his disturber with startled recognition—he was looking at the same pirate who'd threatened him on Pilón.

Pintel grinned nervously. He had a feeling that his diversions weren't going to help him so much this time around. His taller opponent returned the grin more triumphantly, confirming that fear.

And then the fight picked up.

Before Pintel even had the chance to think, his enemy sent him stumbling backwards with a whirl of his sword. Then the taller pirate immediately made another advance, swinging his weapon sideways and clashing it against Pintel's barely ready blade. The confrontational stranger wasn't allowing his prey any time to plan ahead in this fight; it couldn't be risked with someone so wily.

Now it was Pintel's turn to attack. He lunged, but his foe saw the obvious move coming and easily dodged it. Pintel staggered for a second to regain his balance, then turned and attempted another charge with his sword raised. Again, the other man effortlessly avoided contact with the weapon, lightly knocking his own blade against it as he did so. He was taunting Pintel now, needlessly accenting the shorter pirate's failed attempts to strike him.

A flame of frustration sparked inside Robert Pintel when he realized this, and in his desperation, he lunged a third time with his pistol butt raised. But his frustration clouded his thoughts, and he paid a nasty price for it. The enemy pirate's arm shot forward, grabbing his attacker's pistol wrist and sharply yanking it sideways. Pintel's feet were completely jerked out from under him by the lightning-fast move, and he slammed into the nearby rail as he went down. His pistol flew from his hand.

His adversary cackled at what he'd done and eagerly swung his sword downwards. Pintel quickly blocked the blow, snarling at the other man as he staggered back up. The fight continued.

Five meters above them in the ratlines, Ragetti had resumed his climbing. The youngster had seen a stray gunshot blow apart the rigging by the rear of the ship, and he'd realized that he'd be a sitting duck if he stayed where he was for too long. Deciding to venture all the way up to the crow's nest, he began scaling the ropes again, glancing warily down at the men below him all the while.

Then he stopped.

Ragetti leaned forward, squinting. Two men were caught in a duel far below him on the other side of the mast. One was a tall figure with a permanent scowl on his face. The other one was Pintel.

The boy stared down at them, surprised. There was Pintel! He'd almost completely forgotten about the older man while he was running for cover! Pintel was practically right underneath him, and in the middle of another sword fight! For some reason, this excited Ragetti; he knew it shouldn't, as he still remembered the last words that his reluctant helper had spat at him, but the two had been separated in a dangerous place for too long, and now they'd finally found each other, more or less. Curious, the boy quickly began to climb down the ropes.

His companion was too preoccupied to notice. Pintel was gasping for breath, and every exhale was a loud and raspy blast of air that showed how aggravated he'd become. The enemy pirate looked virtually unfazed by the struggle, and he went on with his mocking by jabbing his cutlass forward a few times, faking another lunge. This went on for another moment until Pintel panicked and clumsily made the advance himself. It was an even worse mistake than last time.

The enemy pirate drew his cutlass up swiftly, and with just the right angle and timing, he knocked the gleaming weapon clear out of Pintel's grasp. An instant later, he swung the cutlass back, hitting his shorter opponent square in the chest with the base of the hilt. The shock and pain of the blow sent Pintel reeling backwards, and he fell hard onto the deck, unarmed. Gasping in pain, he opened his eyes and gazed up at his adversary. The other man flashed a hideous grin and raised his sword to finish it.

What happened next was almost too much to take in.

Ragetti didn't even think. He saw the fight and the two blows that the scowling man delivered. He saw Pintel fall, and he also saw that same scowling figure threateningly hold up his sword to end their battle for good. And then just like that, the message flashed on in Ragetti's head: this man was going to kill Pintel. This man was going to kill his uncle.

There was no other way to stop it. The boy was too high up to climb down in time, and he had no weapon of his own to throw at the stranger. There was nothing else Ragetti could do in the split second that he had to help Pintel, and so he did the only thing that he could.

He let go.

Pintel kept his eyes on his enemy just long enough to see the sword come down, and then he cringed…

_WHUMPH!_

There was a sickening jolt, followed by a shout from the other man, and Pintel suddenly heard a heavy metallic wobbling off to his left. Still wincing, he opened one eye and peered over to see the sword bobbing stiffly back and forth, stuck into the floorboards. Then he snapped out of his stupor and looked up at his foe again, only to receive an even bigger shock.

There was the threatening pirate, beet red in the face and staggering spastically about…with _Ragetti_ on his back!

Pintel's eyes grew huge, dumbfounded. It couldn't be! Where did that kid come from? It was like he'd just appeared out of nowhere! Ragetti's arms were wrapped tightly around the angry man's neck, and he could see from the wild, darting terror in those bulging blue eyes that the boy had no idea what to do next.

That'd been enough to bring Pintel out of his second astonishment, and he frantically moved to help his uncanny rescuer. But when he tried to sit up, he was yanked back down just as quickly. Startled, he snapped his head around and discovered what was holding him back. Ragetti had succeeded in throwing off the attacker's aim, but his drop-down ambush hadn't been enough to keep the sword from pinning his friend's sleeve to the deck. Pintel wrapped his fingers around the hilt and anxiously tried to pull it free, looking back and forth from that weapon to the boy all the while.

Ragetti was holding on for dear life. The angry pirate's hands were clamped ferociously onto his thin arms, trying to wrench them away and throw the little nuisance off, but the lad's panic had given him a choking iron grip on the stranger. Ragetti wasn't really trying to strangle the man—in truth, he didn't even realize he had his arms around that filthy neck—but was simply too afraid of what would happen if he let go now. This Scarborough crewman was fuming; to Ragetti, being directly behind him was the best place to be right now.

But just as the terrified stowaway was thinking this, the enemy crewman caught sight of Pintel's lost sword lying nearby. He dove for the weapon, snatching it up and floundering to stay on his feet with his struggling burden. His face was growing redder by the second, and in turn, he was growing more and more enraged at the child who was throttling him—a demonic fury had seized him as he craned his neck to try and see his new rival. That dirty blonde head was right next to his, peering over his shoulder with wide eyes. The pirate bared his teeth, then forcing out a roar, he stood up straight, preparing himself, and grasped the recovered weapon firmly in his hand.

And then he wrenched his arm backwards, jamming the blade sharply over his shoulder as hard as he could.

Pintel heard the scream. It burst agonizingly into his ears, shattering the din around him and nearly sending him flying from his skin. He swore he'd never heard anything so horrifying before in his life. The shriek rang out for a single, unbearable second in time, and then just like that, it was gone. Silenced. Pintel spun around, pale with fright, just in time to see Ragetti fall limply from his enemy's back and onto the deck. And then he saw the blood.

And just like that, Robert Pintel snapped.

"_NOOOOOO!_"

The restraining sword was torn free, and the stocky man shot forward, colliding with his opponent before anymore harm could be done. The force of the impact violently threw both pirates forward and into the rail, where their struggle was savagely reborn. Pintel was completely doubled over, pinning his rival down and grappling for his stolen sword like a madman. But the enemy pirate refused to surrender the weapon, and kicked at the shorter crewman's shins in a vain attempt to ward him off. Finally, the blazing rage and blinding hatred reached their exploding point, and in a moment of unnatural strength, Pintel tore the other man clear off of his feet and threw him into the mast. He twisted the sword downward as he pulled the feat, and as soon as he slammed that red-faced monster against the giant wooden post, he jerked the blade down and into his wrenched gut.

Pintel didn't even give a thought to his victory—he was beyond thinking now. Ragetti lay slumped in a heap a short distance away, and seeing him, the balding man raced towards him.

Another pirate came at them then—an enemy. Two heartbeats later, Pintel had torn him down as well. He was standing over Ragetti, guarding him, protecting him, but not knowing if it mattered. Rage. All he knew now was rage. Then suddenly, Pintel saw somebody that he recognized.

Rub and Ashby came tearing over to him, and reached out to grab his arms without so much as a word of explanation. Pintel screamed, trying to pull his arms free, but he was outnumbered. They were dragging him away from Ragetti.

"No! _NO!_" he bellowed, kicking his legs off the floor. "Lemme go! Lemme go you lousy sots!"

"Save it for Scarborough!" Rub shouted back. "We've gotta get onto the _Folly_!"

But Pintel wasn't hearing any of it. "Lemme go! Get off me, I've gotta 'elp 'im! He's still alive! He ain't dead! I can see 'im movin'! He's movin'! _He ain't dead!_"

It was a lie. Ragetti was absolutely motionless, lying on his side in the slowly growing pool of blood, completely ignored by the rest of the crew. Completely forgotten by the rest of the world.

"_He ain't dead! He ain't dead!_ Lemme go or I'll stove your 'eads in! I'll kill yeh! _HE AIN'T DE__AD!_"

Another attacker flew at the three just then, wielding an iron fire poker. Rub and Ashby, still with their senses, saw the ugly tool swinging towards them and were able to dodge it in time, but Pintel took the blunt bottom end of it against the side of his head, and he plummeted from his comrade's grasps like a lifeless hulk. The last thing he remembered was the sound of a scream, echoing painfully and chillingly in his spinning, upside-down memory.

And then everything went black.

--

--


	18. Painful Aftermath

(Disclaimer: Pintel and Ragetti aren't mine.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

Pintel awoke to serenity.

He paused for a second to let the fuzziness leave his eyes, then lifted his head and glanced oddly around, trying to take in his new situation. He was sitting up against the rail at the ship's bow, alongside a groggy Jiminy and a third crewman who hadn't come to yet; the crew must have put all the unconscious men here for safe keeping. Pintel could see the rest of the group ahead of him on deck then, all absorbed in a lifeless array of tasks—bandaging wounds, picking through debris, fixing the rigging. To his surprise, the half-coherent buccaneer didn't see a single person fighting anymore. Realizing this, he snapped his head over to the right and stopped. The _Vasudeva's Folly_ was gone.

No more battle. It was all over. Pintel blinked hazily. What'd happened? Where were the other pirates? Where was Scarborough? There was no sign of the enemy ship anywhere. After blacking out in the ghastliest moment of the fray, suddenly finding himself in this peaceful aftermath made the Scotsman's disappearance seem like nothing short of sorcery to Pintel. However, the stocky pirate would later learn that Wood had played a major part in the issue. It was the young Irishman who'd encountered the dreaded captain after swinging on board his ship, and it was that same young man who'd been forced to fight him when no help came afterwards. In the end, Wood and Scarborough's daunting duel had led them to the edge of the vessel, where Nequom had then aimed one of the _Urchin_'s cannons and fired, killing the demonic figure in an instant. Apparently, Scarborough's own forthcomings had done him no good as well.

For now though, Pintel knew nothing. The initial pain from the poker's blow was gone, but his head still ached unpleasantly and sported a small lump from the mishap. His thoughts were swimming in a confused jumble, and for a moment, the events leading up to his blackout were forgotten.

And then all of a sudden, they came back.

"Ragetti!"

Pintel tipped forward, breaking his fall just in time and stumbling to his feet. Where was the boy? Where was Ragetti? He'd been lying by the mast the last time the older man had seen him, right underneath the ratlines in a pool of blood… Was he still there? Pintel didn't dare to answer the question in his head, and simply staggered over to the towering mast instead. When he got there, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The kid was gone. Disappeared. Pintel stared down at the deck in shock. There was the blood, festering and reeking in a massive, stagnant puddle, but with no Ragetti in sight. At first, this discovery left the worried pirate stunned, but his frozen mind slowly formed a sickening possibility. The boy had been completely motionless, dead motionless, and Pintel knew what happened to men who died at sea…

He shuddered and forced the thought away, grimly tearing his eyes from the slimy red pool. But as he did so, another, much smaller patch of blood suddenly caught his eye nearby, and he stopped. It was a handprint. And it was far too small to be an adult's.

Pintel dropped to one knee and studied the mark urgently. A second of confusion passed, then he cautiously looked up to stare forward. Sure enough, he spotted another handprint just ahead of the first, and beyond that one, he noticed still a third and a fourth. The sight of the tracks made his grimy face light up anxiously, and without another thought, he scurried after them like a nervous crab.

It was a trail. A bloody trail of palms that that led away from the mast and towards the stern, growing thicker and filthier as it went on. Pintel was practically on all fours by now, and the only thing going through his mind in that single agonizing moment was the fear of what he might find at the end of the foul red path.

Finally, he lifted his wrinkled brow once again to see for himself. The blood led straight back, all the way to the stern of the _Urchin_, where it then turned and disappeared under one of the staircases leading up to the quarterdeck. Pintel felt a choking lump rise sluggishly in his throat as this registered. Then he swallowed it back as best as he could, dragged himself across the final barrier of space, and hesitantly stooped down to peer inside the dimly lit alcove.

At the sound of his breathing, Ragetti inched further away from the opening and drew his legs tighter against his chest.

An immense wave of relief hit Pintel just then, and he exhaled shakily as his heavy shoulders sagged. The kid was alright.

"I oughtta' string you out for the sharks, you mangy little runt," he scolded, still breathless.

The harshness in his voice made Ragetti shrink even tighter into a whimpering ball, and Pintel quickly raised a reassuring hand. "I—I don't mean that. Just…just come out from under there."

But the lad didn't move.

"Look, there's no more point in yeh hidin'," Pintel stated gruffly. "The whole bloody crew knows you're 'ere now."

But Ragetti ignored him, remaining huddled in the shadows with his hands over his face.

Pintel noticed a trickle of blood running between two of the boy's fingers then, and thought of the sticky red trail that he'd followed to find him in the first place.

"Y'got an injury there?" he asked indifferently. "Here, lemme sees it."

As he reached out slightly to motion the youngster closer, Ragetti suddenly sparked to life and scrambled back further, sitting up with his back against the splintery opposite wall.

Pintel sighed impatiently, slouching and rolling his eyes. The stupid little mongrel. Making all this fuss over a miserable cut. He leaned closer, edging his broad shoulders through the tight entrance. "I said lemme see it. Put'cher 'ands down."

When Ragetti refused to comply, Pintel inched closer and reached out to make him. Still whimpering, the youngster jerked away again, only making the other even angrier in his attempts.

"Turn this way. Come on, just move your—oh, for the devil's sake, lemme sees it!" the older man growled. His patience at its end, Pintel finally reached forward with both hands, grabbing a fistful of Ragetti's dirty blonde hair with one and yanking the boy's hands away with the other.

And then everything stopped.

Pintel stared, his eyes horror-struck. And Ragetti returned the look with a frightened, infinitely heart-rending gaze.

But he only stared back at his captor with a single eye.

Blood covered the entire side of the boy's face, streaming out from the now empty socket where his right eye had once been. The eye itself had been completely torn free, exposing the fleshy bone behind it.

Stunned, Pintel finally released his hold on the poor lad and leaned back heavily. He never took his eyes off of the hideous wound though, and Ragetti made no attempt to cover it up again. A dreary understanding had been reached between them.

The stare-down continued for nearly a minute, until Pintel clenched his jaw tightly shut and briefly lowered his gaze. In turn, Ragetti placed his right hand back over the bloody mess and sniffled pathetically. He looked like a dog that'd been kicked too many times, so wary and sad, and Pintel felt sick as the boy sent him a glance suggesting that the scruffy pirate was wearing iron boots.

Without a word, he climbed to his feet and motioned for the lanky youth to follow him away from the scene. Ragetti swallowed hard but obeyed, reluctantly crawling out from his makeshift-hiding place and rising unsteadily to his feet. Pintel flinched slightly as one of the blood-caked hands latched onto his sleeve then, but he made no attempt to pull the lad off; he was too afraid to touch him now. Lifting his head glumly, the stocky man lifted a stubborn foot and walked stiffly forward.

It was a long journey to the crew's quarters, and the prying stares of the other crewmen made it feel even longer. Ragetti inched closer to his companion as they walked, clamping his free hand firmly over his bare socket all the while. Pintel just stared forward and tried to ignore the holes that his former comrades' gazes were burning through him. The shameful march went on for two unbearable minutes, then abruptly ended when the despondent pair disappeared below deck.

Pintel led Ragetti over to his hammock and listlessly motioned for the boy to take a seat in it. His charge fearfully cooperated, shuddering as he brought his other bony hand over to help cover the bleeding again. After an indecisive pause, the pirate gathered his nerves and carefully sat down beside him.

"'Ere…" Pintel murmured. He glanced briefly around for a suitable bandage, then finally reached down and ripped a piece of cloth from the hem of his shirt. Ragetti quietly accepted the strip and stuffed it inside his socket, trying to absorb the blood before it came out. He didn't dare look at the older man.

Pintel, however, couldn't stop watching the miserable child, and his throat tightened horrendously. How could he have done this? How could he have brought Ragetti onto this ship and let this terrible thing happen? Was half this boy's sight really the price he'd had to pay to prove that he, Robert Pintel, had made one better choice than his lousy, good-for-nothing sister?

Suddenly, for the first time in his wretched, dishonest life, Pintel felt the stinging tightness in his chest and temples that men called guilt. And for the first time ever, he truly meant his next words.

"Kid, I'm sorry." He was struggling to hold back the anguish that welled inside his throat.

Ragetti looked up at him with a confused expression. "What for?" he asked in a small voice. "You didn't stab me eye out."

"No, I knows that," Pintel said quickly. "I knows. It's just that… I didn't stop that other fellow from doin' it, yeh know?"

Ragetti wasn't understanding. "But your arm was stuck."

"_I'm just sayin'_—" Pintel started, but his impatience suddenly died away in mid-sentence. He didn't even have the energy to yell at the lad anymore. In a calmer voice, he went on.

"I'm just sayin', I was there. That's all. I was there, I was the one fightin' wif 'im, I was the one that got in a tight spot…" He shook his head sadly. "This shouldn't've 'appened."

He had to look away. He just had to. Playing the scene over again in his head, seeing the boy flailing about on the other pirate's back, hearing that horrible scream…Pintel just couldn't bring himself to stare at the trembling figure beside him with both eyes. The clumsy pirate had walked away from his own battle perfectly intact and unharmed, and he was utterly ashamed of it.

Weariness gripped him as he tore his sight away from Ragetti. The youth, however, continued to stare timidly up at the older man.

Pintel shook his head again as he focused on the floor. "That's all," he repeated. "It ain't your fault, I ain't mad at yeh. …I'll jus' try 'arder to stay on my feet next time."

He met that fearful gaze once more, very briefly, then stood up and made his way to the stairs.

Ragetti watched him leaving. "Where y'goin'?" he called out hesitantly.

"Just—" Pintel spun around with his hands raised anxiously. "…Stay 'ere, alright? I 'ave to go back up. Just stay 'ere."

He turned and left then. Ragetti listened to the creaking of heavy boots on the steps until the sound died away, and then the boy realized just how cold he was. He was in pain, unimaginable pain, and he was completely alone once more.

Ragetti felt another shiver ripple his rail-thin body then, and with nothing else left to do, he curled himself into a dejected ball and lay down in the hammock, just trying to ignore the blood that wouldn't stop seeping from his eye socket.

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Soon to be updated...


	19. Deciding Loyalty

(Disclaimer: Pintel and Ragetti aren't mine.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

The afternoon sun was hanging directly above the _Glass Urchin_ as Pintel reemerged onto the deck. Its sudden brightness made him squint at first, but he quickly ignored the blazing ball and gave it no other response as he continued forward. Let his eyes hurt, he thought bleakly. Then he came to a lifeless stop at the first set of rigging he could find; some work would help take his mind off of the unbearable guilt.

But just as he reached for the ropes, his stocky outline caught the attention of none other than Yager, who was kneeling on the deck nearby and using his green bandanna to bind the arm of a surprisingly obedient Wood.

Looking up from the bloody mess, Yager spotted the smaller crewman and beamed.

"Pintel!" he called out, sounding relieved. "Your mate there got himself a battle scar he wasn't expecting, did he?" The bearded man waved his hand dismissively. "He's young; he'll sleep it of. That lad's got a right old monster in him, he has!"

"Well I'd rather he 'ad both 'is eyes in 'im!" Pintel shot back loudly, his ungratefulness for the comments—reassurances though they'd been—clear in his tone.

Yager's grin immediately died and he stopped, stunned by this apparent revelation. Beside him, Wood kept his gaze down and said nothing.

Pintel continued to glower distastefully at the pair until Nequom came over and called his name just then. Still frazzled, the burly pirate snapped his balding head around to glared at the new arrival as well. "Wot?"

Nequom faltered slightly and pointed over to the quarterdeck. "The cap'n wants t'see you in his cabin."

Pintel turned towards him a little more at this, shedding his standoffish demeanor. In its place came a confused one. The _captain _wanted to see him?

He finally nodded, glancing downward. "Aye…" Then he deserted his task at the rigging and trudged off in the indicated direction.

One of the cabin doors was wide open, and from where he was looking, Pintel could see Pellinore standing inside with his pale hands clenched into fists at his side. The Englishman looked stiffer than usual, and he wore a particularly frigid expression as he saw his summoned follower approaching, but he was in perfect condition. Not a scratch or a bruise to suggest he'd been bested at all in the brawl. The crewman noted this without the slightest bit of curiosity, and gave his superior an acknowledging nod.

"You, eh… wanted to see me, Cap'n?"

Pellinore pointed curtly to a nearby chair. "Sit."

The sharpness in his voice surprised Pintel a little, but he dully complied. Seeing how submissive the pirate was, Pellinore wasted no time in getting to the point.

He spoke slowly and calmly, taking a few steps past the chair. "Let me be perfectly clear, Mr. Pintel. I'm sure you're aware that, as a captain, I have little tolerance for a stowaway on my ship." He turned then, and his tone suddenly grew harsh. "But I'll have you know, I have even less tolerance for members of my own crew sneaking them on board!"

Pintel lowered his head drearily. "Wif respect an' all, Cap'n…I fink we bof' figured out it was a mistake."

"Not nearly enough." Pellinore leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You deliberately disobeyed a direct order from me, Mr. Pintel, and as a man in my position, I do not intend to be disobeyed." He met his crewman's eye sternly. "I _will_ make an example of you to the rest of the crew."

Pintel nodded. "Aye. Wot'll it be, then? Five lashes? I'll take 'em." He was welcoming of pain and scars now.

Pellinore shook his head and stood up straight. "I assure you, I don't resort to such barbaric devices." There was a brief pause, and he went on with the voice of a schoolmaster. "As I see it, my entire ship is covered and dripping with the…_remnants_ of that ghastly battle. Those remnants will have to be cleaned, and it will take a long time to do so."

The other man understood. "Do it all by meself, Cap'n?"

"I believe it's fitting."

"An' wot about the kid? Wot'll yeh do to him?"

Pellinore furrowed his brow. "What can I do but keep him below deck? I've already told you that I have no use for him on my crew, Mr. Pintel. He'd be no good to me even as a deck swabber."

"I wouldn't say 'e's entirely useless, Cap'n," Pintel said cautiously. He wasn't sitting so well with their conversation anymore.

The suggestion earned a scowl from Pellinore, who turned his back to the foolishness of it. "Spare me. This is a mission, not an excursion. Problems arise—_dangers_ arise! I need experienced crewmen who can handle a sword to deal with them, not a gutless child."

That was all it took for Pintel to lose it again.

"He's got a lot more guts than _you_ do!"

Everything stopped. Pellinore's blood ran cold, and he whirled around irately. Pintel was on his feet now, and he refused to let the shock of what he'd just said surface on his sneering mask of a face. It was too late for that.

The captain's eyes glinted dangerously. "What did you say?"

Pintel stiffened only slightly at the burning gaze, then decided to elaborate. "Runnin' from Scarborough instead of firin' at im. Makin' us empty the ship, keepin' fightin' as a last resort. An' where the hell were yeh when the fightin' _did_ start? Hidin' 'ere in your bloody cabin?"

The pirate paused to take in a steadying breath. Each sentence had been like a barrier being crossed; a piece of a staggering riddle that he was finally beginning to solve. The disgust Pintel felt now was enough to make him want to kick himself.

Pellinore continued to glare through his crewman for a tense moment, then swiftly reached back and slammed his cabin door shut. He kept his gaze locked firmly onto the stocky fellow, but his twitching eyes betrayed his withheld panic all the while. The Englishman stalked closer, and Pintel held down his own pounding heart as he squared his jaw. He suddenly wasn't afraid of this man anymore.

Pellinore spoke through gritted teeth. "You overstep your boundaries."

"I just says what I saw, Cap'n," was Pintel's snide reply.

"_Enough!_" The other shot forward as he barked. "You will scrub every last drop of blood off of that deck, _and_ you'll serve on watch duty every night until we reach port!"

"You would've left the 'ole crew t'die if you could've, _wouldn't yeh?!_"

"_AND you'll lose your share of the profit!_"

"_What_ profit?" Pintel snapped. Now it was his turn to step forward. "You never told us wot we was lookin' for! You never told us about Scarborough! You never even told us wot was in the bloody case, 'cause yeh didn't want us to know, did yeh? These lads ain't gettin' a cent fer their trouble—_we_ was just doin' the legwork to get you back some scrap a' stolen merchandise, and yeh brought Winchcomb into it to keep us all in line!"

He was spot on with his accusation, chillingly so, but it was Pellinore who ultimately held the reigns of final authority in their face-off.

"You will regret ever learning to speak if you say one more word!" he shouted, all traces of his composure suddenly gone. The livid captain leaned even closer then, using his superior height as a threat. "I can make your punishment as severe as I want, Mr. Pintel." Then he narrowed his eyes to carry his message home. "…And I can extend it to someone else if I see it necessary. …Is that understood?"

The last word was all but spat in Pintel's face, and the discontented crewman immediately lost his prowess when the meaning behind the warning sank in. His eyes wavered anxiously for a second, his outburst forgotten. Pellinore wasn't bluffing, and Pintel knew exactly who the Englishman meant by "someone else."

Finally, the pirate's shoulders sagged heavily and he lowered his gaze, defeated.

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Cleaning the deck that afternoon was an experience that Pintel would have gladly sold his soul to forget.

Blood was everywhere. It covered the wooden floorboards and cabin walls, and oozed sluggishly back and forth on the steps and rails with the ship's swaying, engulfing everything in its dark crimson shade. Even some of the rigging was still dripping red tears. On briefly inspecting the gory scene, Pintel dismally discovered that the _Urchin_'s old warped planks were making the excess blood run, guiding the red fluid down towards the vessel's main mast, and so that was where he decided to begin his grueling task. Understanding that nothing could make him forget his guilt right now, he'd dropped his bucket and self gloomily down in front of the largest puddle there.

Scrubbing at the poor lad's blood was every bit as horrible as looking at him in person, and that grim conclusion only reminded Pintel that he woukd eventually have to face Ragetti again before the voyage was over. Worse yet, the pirate couldn't pull his mind away from the lingering dread that he might find…_it_…somewhere in this mess; he didn't know how he'd react if he saw that lonely little blue and white orb gazing up at him from the deck with its eternally dead stare. Fortunately for Pintel, he never did find it.

Rub stood directly behind him, adjusting the sails. The taller man seemed caught in some inner debate for a moment as he kept glancing away from his work, then a bright idea visibly came to him and he smirked through his beard. Keeping his eyes locked forward on his goal, he stepped away from the mast.

"Be right back, mate," he said when Pintel lifted his head. "I'm gonna get some more rope."

Pintel nodded dismissively and resumed his scrubbing. The water in his bucket was becoming just as grimy as the filth he was trying to remove, and the rag he was using was already a deep shade of scarlet. The sight of it made him wince; he'd never been squeamish about these things before, but the connection that he felt to it this time left him sick to his stomach. It was too much too soon, and he finally threw down his rag in frustration and sat up straight. Dejected, the balding man glanced to his right in thought. Just as he did, he spotted a coiled length of rope draped over a nearby barrel. Pintel frowned to himself—Rub had just wasted a trip.

He turned around then and craned his neck to search for his comrade. Oddly though, he didn't see the tall man anywhere. Pintel squinted through the sunlight and continued glancing around at the others on deck. Where'd that Rub gone to?

An instant later, he received his first hint of an answer as a muffled sound echoed up from the ship's lower level. It was a scream—a child's scream.

Pintel jerked like he'd been slapped and glared angrily back at the rope. That lying maggot! That lousy, miserable—he'd raise him right through his ugly skull if he did anything to that kid! And then the enraged uncle moved to do exactly this.

However, just as he began to rise, he caught sight of Pellinore and stopped dead in his tracks. The captain was glowering directly at him from behind the wheel, and the look on his face reminded Pintel of the threat he'd been given earlier. The pirate took a wary step back and shifted his eyes towards the steps that led below deck. Here was Pellinore, silently ordering him back to work while Rub was doing who-knew-what behind closed doors—Ragetti would be in a fix no matter what happened.

Another cry floated up from the crew's quarters just then, muted by the deck planks.

Pintel twitched at the sound, but Pellinore's focus never left him. The captain wasn't about to let him go anywhere. Another wave of dread came over Pintel, and he slowly sank back down to his bucket and rag, maintaining an impassive expression. He would have to think of something.

No sooner had he decided this than Yager came up calmly beside the captain and said something too low for Pintel to hear. It must have been an important question, because Pellinore reluctantly turned away from the deck swabber to address it properly. Yager stepped a little closer then, prompting the Englishman to turn a little more towards him. Pintel saw his chance and climbed to his feet.

He knew where his loyalty lay.

---------------------------------------------

"Aaah!"

Rub stalked around the next hammock a second after Ragetti crawled underneath it. "You been sneakin' around behind me!" he growled, sounding sadistically amused at the same time. "Listenin' to me secrets, eavesdroppin' on me!"

"No!"

"Yeh been spyin' on me, 'aven't yeh, yeh lit'l bastard!"

"_No!_" Ragetti quickly scrambled out from his pathetic fortress and crossed underneath another hammock, trying to get away. The boy was crawling away in fright on his knees and elbows, too weak from toil and blood loss to do anything else.

Rub just cackled at the pitiful escape and tore the hammock aside. He wasn't done tormenting this kid just yet. "I'll show yeh what I does to eavesdroppers! Come 'ere!"

"Aaaaah!"

Now Ragetti was crawling on his side, trying to watch the man with his one remaining eye. His pursuer paused to watch him for a moment, then abruptly made an intimidating lunge. The boy yelped and sprang away, but failed to see the wooden support beam on his right and collided sharply with it. Rub smirked triumphantly and continued his approach.

He didn't make it another step.

Rub had no idea what happened. One minute, he'd been following this scrawny little rabbit of a boy around the room, and the next, something heavy had plowed right into him, sending him staggering backwards. Then the bearded scoundrel found his balance again, and he and Ragetti both stared in shock at the unexpected assailant.

Pintel stared back at Rub for a single chilling instant, then sneered and held up the loop of coils. "I found that rope you was lookin' for."

The look of speechlessness on that ugly bearded face was just what he'd wanted to see, and the second it appeared, Pintel tossed the rope at his crewmate with a rigid arm. Rub quickly caught it, but had to step back to avoid toppling over from the momentum. The confrontation ended there—Pintel's fiery scowl was more than enough to put the other man further in his place.

With that, the stocky pirate turned and hoisted his amazed charge up by the arm. "Come on," he said gruffly. Then he sent his opponent a final warning glance, and led Ragetti calmly up the stairs.

Alone in the crew's quarters, Rub stared at the departing victor in utter shock.

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Ragetti was in bad shape. The lad barely had enough energy left from his wound to walk to the mast, and when the pair finally did make it there and sat down, he discovered that his collision with the support beam had started the bleeding all over again. Pintel responded to this by tearing another strip of cloth from his shirt, which he dutifully tied around Ragetti's head as a makeshift eye patch. Once that was finished, he studied the boy's grimy face from a slight distance.

"'E do anyfing to yeh?"

Ragetti shook his head.

The pirate grinned slightly. "Too fast for 'im, aye?" His voice lowered then. "…'Ow's the eye?"

The youngster shrugged and looked up nervously at him. "Still got one…" he murmured.

Pintel nodded and lifted an eyebrow in agreement. Then his other itching conflict came back to mind, and he quickly gazed up at the quarterdeck.

To his surprise, Pellinore was still speaking to Yager, completely unaware of Ragetti's sudden arrival on deck. The captain's conversation went on for another minute, then immediately stopped with an understanding nod from his listening crewman. With that, the two turned from each other and resumed their previous activities without a word.

Yager looked at Pintel as he descended the quarterdeck stairs. There was a humble, even apologetic light in his dark eyes, and then just before the bearded fellow turned to face Wood again, he sent his balding companion a quick nod.

Pintel blinked. What had that meant? He had to stop and think before the answer came to him at last, and his eyes widened when he realized what the other man had done to help him.

Suddenly, he could see why Ragetti liked that Yager fellow so much.

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Kind of a busy chapter, but I really wanted to keep these two scenes together.


	20. Dinner Confrontation

(Disclaimer: Pintel and Ragetti aren't mine.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

Evening rolled in a few short hours later, and the _Urchin_'s crew found themselves crowded below deck in their dining quarters once again. Pellinore had estimated that their next destination—a port in northern Jamaica—was only a few days away, and with no more enemies left to run from, he'd decided his men could all afford a dinner break. Pintel, to say the least, was wary about joining his fellow buccaneers, especially with Ragetti in tow, but he was too starving to pass the chance up. Besides, his younger mate needed to get back all the energy that he'd bled away earlier, and food was the only thing that could do the job properly.

After nearly five minutes of watching the kid stuff his face with everything in arm's reach, Pintel figured that Ragetti had realized this as well. The balding man rolled his eyes calmly at the humorous sight and turned his attention back to his own meal. There was no need to worry about the lad hogging too much of the pushy pirates' food; most of them had concluded that rum was a much more effective elixir anyway.

One such crewman was Cormac, who sat to the right of Ragetti. The scruffy crewman seemed to be particularly enjoying his brew that evening, and was laughing so hard from his comrades' stories about the battle that more of the drink was ending up in his beard than in his mouth. Then with an enthusiastic tilt backwards, he finally swigged down the rest of the rum and slammed his empty mug victoriously onto the table in front of him. Suddenly without anything to preoccupy his half-intoxicated mind, the pirate then turned to glance curiously at the boy beside him.

Ragetti wasn't wearing his bandage anymore; the bleeding had stopped a while ago, and he'd disliked how the homemade tourniquet kept covering his good left eye as well. Now there was nothing to prevent Cormac from staring straight into that empty little socket, and he keenly did just that. There was a pause as he watched the oblivious lad, smirking sadistically, and then a nasty idea sparked in the drunk pirate's head.

Keeping his eyes on the ten-year-old, Cormac calmly reached down and felt around inside his weathered jacket. A second later, he found what he'd been fishing for, and carefully drew out the brand new prize he'd stolen from a fallen enemy that morning: a pistol. Without further delay, he adjusted his grip on the weapon and pointed it directly at Ragetti's head.

The youngster gave no response as he continued eating.

Cormac's lips stretched to hold back laugher. The kid couldn't see it! That little idiot couldn't see _anything_ on his right side! A small chuckle managed to escape at that point, but the crewman quickly covered it up and moved his pistol closer. Now it was right next to Ragetti's face, still unnoticed.

Cormac paused again to bask in his glorious discovery, and he would've moved the gun closer still, but at that moment, Ragetti finished pounding a hardtack roll down his throat and decided he wanted another one. The boy heartily reached for the bowl again, turning his head slightly to the right as he did so. And just like that, he forgot all about his pressing hunt for food.

"Ahh!"

Ragetti flew back the instant he saw the gun, tumbling off of the bench and scrambling backwards to huddle against the wall. Pintel's head snapped around when he heard the commotion, and when he saw Ragetti fuming silently on the floor and Cormac waving his pistol, he realized what'd just happened.

Cormac cackled loudly at the boy's rewarding reaction. "Cert'n'ly took yeh long enough to notice it, yeh lit'l Cyclops!" he crowed.

Pintel growled and stood up. "Wot the bloody 'ell are yeh doin' aimin' that fing at 'im?!" The entire crew's conversation abruptly came to a halt.

"Oi, easy, mate!" Cormac said as he also stood. He calmly lifted his pistol, revealing that it wasn't even cocked. "I was just foolin' with the kid!"

"_Foolin'_ wif 'im?!" Pintel echoed hotly.

Cormac nodded with a hint of spite. "Aye. I just wanted to see if 'e could see me pistol comin' next to 'im!"

Pintel was about ready to tear the other man's head off. "_His eye's missin'!_"

"I know," Cormac said, flashing a sneer of a smile. "An' he _didn't_ see it comin'!"

Under any regular circumstance, Pintel would've gladly slugged Cormac in the face at this point, but a short distance away, forgotten on the floor, Ragetti slowly looked up at his mocker with an expression of almost uncharacteristic anger. In the course of three days, he'd been trapped under a table, stabbed in the eye, terrorized by a crewman, and now this miserable fellow was taunting him viciously for his injury. It was all building up inside the boy, all the pain and fright he'd been forced to endure, and at that moment, something snapped in his head, and the wild dog mind that Pintel had once forbidden suddenly returned to Ragetti with a vengeance. He noticed Cormac's other hand dangling at his side as the pirate scoffed his last comment, then letting go of his timid child thoughts, the lad leapt to his feet, grabbed the hand, and did the first thing he could think of.

He bit it.

Cormac screamed, and an instant later, Pintel did slug him in the face. The blow sent the taller man toppling backwards, crashing erratically into the other two crewmen beside him, but even that wasn't enough to satisfy Pintel's blind rage. The stocky pirate immediately seized Cormac by the arms, and with a roar of effort, threw his enemy straight across the table. There was a chorus of angry shouts and tumbling wood as Cormac crashed to the floor on the other side, and Pintel and Ragetti briefly exchanged approving glances. They had both enjoyed that immensely.

Pintel scowled across the table at his dazed opponent again. "Yeh see _that_ comin'?"

Cormac responded by springing back up and hurling himself at the shorter man. The two collided loudly and went down, but rum had decided the victor long before any of their punches could; Pintel easily threw Cormac off of him and put another fist to the drunkard's face.

At that point, Rub had decided that he didn't like Pintel either, and dove off of the bench to add his two cents to the fight. No sooner did he do this than Wood leapt up to stop him with an elbow to the gut, and the pair were suddenly caught in their own one-on-one face-off. Rub growled and delivered a blow to Wood's bandaged right arm, earning a painful howl from the younger man, and Yager urgently jumped in to break them up. Across the table, Ashby also remembered that he didn't like Cormac and threw a loaded rum mug at him. However, not wanting to cast away his own alcoholic beverage, he'd snatched up the impromptu weapon from the crewman next to him. The crewman, Snitch, voiced his disapproval by slamming Ashby onto the tabletop face-first.

Before long, it was a total free-for-all. The entire crew was at each other's throats, punching and tackling everyone in sight for any reason they could think of—pointless or legit—and Pintel and Ragetti were right in the middle of it. Pintel still wasn't finished with Cormac; he'd let the lousy thug walk all over him before and hated himself for it, but now that brute had pulled a fast one on Ragetti, and the balding protector wanted to pound the regret right out of him for it. Behind the two, hopping rowdily onto the table, Ragetti snatched up a wooden bowl and wildly proceeded to swing it at anybody who wasn't Pintel. All the while, the kid was barking and yapping at the top of his lungs—he was loving every second of this brawl.

Unfortunately for Ragetti, the fun was doomed to be short-lived, and the deafening sounds of shouting and crashing quickly traveled above deck to the captain's cabin. A minute later, heavy footsteps came thundering down the steps and Pellinore arrived lividly onto the scene. The Englishman's blazing eyes scanned his disorderly crew, then he lunged ahead and forcefully yanked Jiminy out of the fray.

"_Who started this?_"

Just like that, the ruckus died and all heads turned to gawk at their commander. Jiminy recoiled at Pellinore's furious tone and frantically pointed. "Aye… it were Mr. Pintel and the kid started it, Cap'm!"

The seething captain had little trouble believing this.

"Pintel!" he blasted when he spotted the stocky figure. "Explain yourself!"

The other did so with casual frankness. "It's quite simple, Mr. Pellinore." He paused to haul Cormac up by the collar. "This sot was tauntin' Ragetti 'ere, pointin' 'is pistol at 'im!" Then he looked over at Ragetti for confirmation. "Ain't that right?"

The lad bobbed his head up and down huffily. "Pointin' 'is pistol…" he mumbled.

Pellinore nodded arrogantly at this answer, showing a much deeper meaning in his eyes. "Oh yes, at the very same boy I told you not to bring onto my ship in the first place, Mr. Pintel."

The bald crewman sneered and released Cormac, throwing him back harshly. Seeing that he had the upper hand, the captain continued in a coolly snide tone.

"His youthful carelessness has given him a remarkable talent for getting into trouble. Perhaps you should better exercise keeping both eyes on him, seeing how he cannot do so himself."

The room erupted with laughter. Pellinore forced a triumphant look onto his face for the sake of the moment, then turned to leave. Right before he completely showed the crew his back though, his eyes shifted over to Cormac's and lingered briefly on the dazed pirate. Pintel caught this furtive glance, and once the captain was gone, he turned to study Cormac as well. The taller pirate still had his new pistol in hand, and he was fingering it curiously, seeming to consider a hidden understanding that Pellinore had communicated to him through that look. Realization suddenly flashed in his eye, and he brought the weapon a little closer, trying to conceal it.

And then he cocked it.

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Soon to be updated…


	21. A Schemer's Farewell

(Disclaimer: Pintel, Ragetti, and POTC don't belong to me.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

It was midnight when Pintel finally decided what to do.

He was in the crow's nest, positioned high above the deck on watch duty where his punishment had forced him to be. The ship had dropped anchor for the night, and the rest of her crew had gone down to the sleeping quarters for a much-needed seven hours of rest. Now the balding pirate was by himself, and he was staring intently over at the captain's cabin doors. More specifically, he was staring at the sliver of lantern light that was filtering through the gap of space beneath them.

Pintel was at the end of the rope; he'd uncovered a vital secret about Pellinore, which he hadn't had the sense to keep quiet about in front of the captain, and he'd put himself at odds with nearly every other crewman—dangerously so. The stocky sailor had a sinking intuition that any untimely "accident" that might meet him would be overlooked by the Englishman, given this situation. The only option Pintel had left was to escape from the _Glass Urchin_, and with this darkness as a cover, he realized he would have to make his move right now. Besides, his neck wasn't the only one on the chopping block anymore.

At last, the lantern light flickered out—Pellinore had gone to bed as well. Seeing his chance,. Pintel carefully made his way to the edge of the crow's nest and slowly began climbing down the ratlines.

"Sorry, Cap'n," he muttered spitefully under his breath. "I'm just keepin' bof eyes on the kid."

A minute later, his feet touched down on deck, then he crept along and silently descended the steps to the crew's quarters.

Pintel and Ragetti had been forced to go separate ways after dinner; Pellinore would only allow one man on watch duty. However, the elder of the two had seen Cormac's suspicious actions, and he'd pulled his younger companion aside to give him a sharp instruction.

"You likes 'at Yager fellow?" Pintel'd said warningly. "Then don't let yerself out of 'is sight!" There'd been no need to worry Ragetti any more than that; Yager was an equally observant man.

With that hopeful thought in mind, Pintel came to a stop in front of the hammocks, and after anxiously searching the whole lot of them, he found Ragetti fast asleep in the one beside Yager's. Squaring his jaw disapprovingly, he nudged the boy awake.

"Wot the 'ell're yeh doin' sleepin'?"

Ragetti sat up with a jolt. "Yager told me I could, " he whispered timidly.

"I doesn't care," Pintel snapped, noticing that the bearded man was also sound asleep. "I wouldn't even _blink_ if one a' these bloody sots was in a mile of me!"

The lad hugged his legs nervously. "That other fellow made sure they all fell asleep first. 'E don't trust 'em either."

Pintel stopped and blinked. "Who?"

Ragetti pointed, and following his direction, the older man's eyes came to rest on a crewmember who'd fallen asleep sitting against a support beam. It was Wood.

"He said 'e weren't tired like Yager was," the youngster sheepishly added. "Fink 'e misjudged." When Pintel failed to comment, Ragetti continued with a quieter, more thoughtful tone.

"He were a stowaway too once, 'e told me. Didn't like 'is home so 'e snuck on a ship, four years ago. 'E got caught like we did too, an' that's 'ow 'e met Yager." The boy lowered his head then. "Guess Yager were the one what found 'im."

Pintel stared quietly down at the curious duo, understanding. "And they've been together even since, aye?" He felt a small pang of guilt at that. Yager and Wood had both been decent men after all; he felt that he owed them some sort of grateful farewell, but waking anybody, even two allies, would be too risky for his plan. Instead, he gave them a final regard, then turned to Ragetti again.

"Come on." He motioned for the kid to get up. "I fink we's officially worn out our welcome 'ere."

Without a word, Ragetti hopped out of the hammock and followed his companion above deck.

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Preparing the lifeboat was an easy enough task. All Pintel had to do was pull on the rigging to lift the boat, then adjust the ropes to haul it over the ship's rail and position it above the water. The only things the little escape vessel needed now were its passengers. But before either of the two renegades climbed on board, a curious thought came to the older one, and he stopped to glance around the _Glass Urchin_ one more time.

Pintel casually scratched at his stubbly beard. "Yeh know…it kinda sends 'em the wrong message, us just leavin' in the middle of the night like this. Kinda seems like we's givin' up, runnin' away."

Beside him, Ragetti's eye strayed to the floor planks. "Yeah," he murmured. "Kinda does."

Pintel went on with his point, pretending to sound sincere. "I guess _maybe_ it'd make more sense for us to…I dunno…" He tilted his head towards Ragetti "…Grab us a li'l keepsake for all our trouble?"

The lad looked up at him then, oddly starting to understand. "You mean…steal sumfin'?"

Pintel grinned dastardly. "Aye, mate."

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The moonlight was peering eerily through the dust-fogged windows when the door to Pellinore's cabin slowly creaked open. It paused after half a meter, then Pintel cautiously poked his head through the opening to scan the room for its lone resident. He spied the captain lying in a bed off to the left, and seeing that the man was sound asleep, pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside. Ragetti warily peeked inside after him, watching as Pintel crept closer to the Englishman.

Pellinore had gone too far. He'd threatened Ragetti, even allowing the other men to terrorize the boy, and he'd kept Pintel busy just to separate the two. It was his suicide mission to Pilón that had put the pair in danger from the beginning, and now the Englishman had given Cormac permission to shoot them both. What was more, Pellinore's lying and deceit had ultimately cost Ragetti his eye, and Robert Pintel wasn't about to let that go unpunished. Eagerly, angrily, the stocky pirate came to a stop beside the bed and crouched down to feel for the item he'd come to claim: the black case.

Sure enough, he retrieved the cursed prize out from under the bed, and after beckoning his young comrade to come closer and see, he opened it.

…And a greedy smile immediately appeared on Pintel's face.

It was a medallion. The thick bronze chain was simple and undecorated, hardly worth a second look, but the pendant itself was something to behold. A perfectly round circle of gold, etched with copper and framed by three small garnet stones that all led to and revolved around the largest ruby either of the two renegades had ever seen. The sight of the jewel even made Ragetti grin with amazement.

More than satisfied with their find, Pintel stuffed the trinket inside his pocket, then closed the ebony case and carefully slid it back under the bed. With that, he stood up and sent Pellinore a final, triumphant glare.

"G'bye, chum." Then the pair turned and left, silently snickering at their perfect revenge.

They would never know just how perfect it was.

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Pintel took it upon himself to row the tiny lifeboat away from the mother ship. His glee had given him energy to spare, and since Ragetti was too small and inexperienced to help with the job, the burly pirate had a chance to put his newfound vigor to work. He was feeling optimistic, and for the first time in a terribly long time, Pintel was rightly feeling like a victor as well. Still, it wasn't until the next morning—after he'd rowed a safe, untraceable distance away from the _Glass Urchin_—that he felt confident enough to gloat about it.

"HA-HAAAAA! Try an' put a leash on us, eh? Well guess again, yeh ugly mutton 'ead!"

"Lousy wood rat!" Ragetti hooted and jeered alongside him. The two were tauntingly shaking their fists in the long gone ship's direction.

"Rotten pomp! _Filthy git!_"

"_STUPID BLIGHTER!_"

Both of them burst out cackling at that. Before it could wear off, Pintel sat up straight again and quickly cursed towards the Englishman one more time.

"Fink you can string us out t'rot, yeh dumb cad? Well you gotta be a lot sharper than _that_ t'pull a fast one on us, 'cause we're Pintel and Ragetti!" The pair whooped in unison. "Schemer an' scholar!" They whooped even louder. "Captain an' first mate!"

Ragetti let out a final victory howl and chimed in, "Uncle and nephew!"

Pintel was about to cheer along with this, but the boy's words suddenly dawned on him and his shouting came to a halt. There was obviously no lie to those words, but somehow, they didn't sit well with him. He paused and adjusted his grip on the oars for another awkward moment, then finally spoke.

"Eh…Ragetti?" He shifted in his seat a little when the kid stared at him. "I…sorta' been finkin' 'bout that. Wot say we forgets 'bout the whole uncle nephew fing?"

Ragetti's gleeful expression suddenly turned confused. "Forgets?"

"Aye."

"What for?"

Pintel had to stop to gather his complicated thoughts again. "Well…it's sorta' got a bad connection to it, if yeh finks about it. I mean, admittin' we's uncle and nephew means admittin' yer mum exists, and…seein' 'ow she done us bof' wrong, I says it's best if we just forget the whole fing. Aye?" Somehow, family just didn't mean that much to Pintel anymore.

Ragetti looked visibly disappointed by this notion, but lowered his gaze and nodded reluctantly. "Aye. Bad memories shouldn't be memories at all."

Pintel watched the lad stew in his thoughts for a moment and frowned. He had to get away from this subject. Forcing a smirk, he reached out and gave Ragetti a light slug in the arm.

"'Ey, we don't need any a' that anyways." He pointed to himself and the other. "Pirate and partner, aye? That's all the connection we need."

Ragetti considered this, then smiled back and nodded in agreement. "Pirate an' partner!"

The older man began rowing again. "Aye. Now _that's_ one fing that filthy ol' Rebecca Pintel don't have," he crowed. "A _real_ partner." A rare look of content appeared on his face then as he turned to scan the horizon.

The boy grinned widely at the comment. "Fanks Pinters," he said.

Pintel abruptly stopped and lifted one crooked eyebrow as he looked at Ragetti again.

"Wot you say?" he asked in a suddenly less friendly voice.

"I said fanks."

"No, after that." There was a nasty glint in his yellowed eyes, the tenderness of the moment now gone. "You said my name wrong! It's Pintel! People call me Pintel, yeh li'l fool!"

"But don't ye' ever get tired of it?" the youth pressed on lamely.

The other was adamant in his response. "No. I doesn't." That said, he turned to glance ahead once more.

Ragetti glanced sheepishly down at the floor of the boat, half in his own thoughts now. "I still like 'Pinters' better…" he mumbled flatly.

The comment hadn't gone unheard. Pintel stopped in mid-thought and spun around a third time to stare at the persistent youngster with hard black eyes.

"Oh you does, does yeh?" he scowled. "Well then I guess _I'd_ rather call _you_…" He thought for a second. "…Rags! Yeah, that's it!"

The boy looked puzzled at this. "But me name's Ragetti," he said. "Y'said so yourself."

"Well _now_ I says your name's Rags, hear me?!" And with that, Pintel finally resumed his rowing in silence.

Ragetti turned his eye back down to the floor between his feet. He shifted his position once or twice, again returning to his own little world of thought. A grin split his thin lips just then.

"Rags," he murmured, laughing softly and dumbly to himself.

Pintel just rolled his smoldering eyes and paddled on.

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Soon to be updated! That's the end of the flashback portion of the story.


	22. Repeating the Past

(Disclaimer: Pintel, Ragetti, and POTC don't belong to me.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

The flashback ended.

Pintel was back in his cell, once again a prisoner locked in the Port Royal jail. Once again sitting alone on the moonlit stone floor, not caring that he'd regained his mortality. His mind was returning to the horrible present, but still he clung desperately to the chain of memories that were growing faster and faster as they flooded past him.

They hadn't gotten so much as a penny for that medallion. Another pirate vessel called the _Spanish Doubloon _had overtaken them shortly after their escape from Pellinore, and the wayward pair had been seized and hauled on board. They'd both been forced to empty their pockets in front of the crew, and once that blazing red ruby appeared, there was no chance that they'd be keeping it. The _Doubloon_'s captain had given them an ultimatum: they could either give him the medallion willingly and be made part of his crew, or be shot and have it confiscated anyway. Their fortune would be useless whether or not they were around to spend it, and so Pintel had reluctantly handed over the stolen trinket to their new commander. It was a dejecting loss, but they were both alive, and Ragetti'd certainly been content enough with that; eventually, his older companion had also been able to don a bit of that same optimism and move on.

But the memory of it couldn't be erased. For at least a few brief hours, Pintel and Ragetti had both experienced what it was like to be unimaginably wealthy, and the maddening desire to have those kinds of riches again had never left them. They'd spent the next eight years combing the entire Caribbean for more "golden opportunities," and after countless adventures—including a rather embarrassing year of press-ganged service in the British Navy—the two of them came to join the crew of a pirate named Jack Sparrow.

At first, they'd seen the eccentric captain as a promising leader; an invaluable key to helping them find that wealth they so greedily sought. They'd felt the same way about Barbossa after the _Black Pearl_'s crew had betrayed and marooned Sparrow. In the end though, their greed had cost them dearly, and right as their luck was beginning to return and they were at last rid of that horrible decade-long curse, cruel fate had intervened one more time.

And now, ten months later, they were prisoners.

Pintel swallowed back a lump in his throat and finally looked up at his cellmate again.

He'd never really forgotten that Ragetti was his nephew. He hadn't forgotten it when he'd given up that medallion twenty years ago, or when the curse had been lifted and they'd been taken as prisoners on the _Dauntless_. And he certainly hadn't forgotten it when those three filthy soldiers had beaten a sobbing Ragetti into the prison floor with their rifle butts.

But it made no difference now whether or not Pintel remembered their family bonds, because he knew in the pit of his heavy heart that the miserable man slumped on that bench was no longer his silly little Rags. There wasn't the tiniest trace of happiness or hope left inside that empty husk now; only bitterness and hatred for everything around him. Ragetti's optimism had been completely beaten out of him, and Pintel silently cursed himself as he realized just how much of a part he might have played in that destruction.

How many times had he hurt him? How many times had he lost his temper and snarled at that daft little idiot to shut his blabbering mouth, and then struck him or worse when that hadn't worked? How long had he taken Ragetti for granted? Pintel lowered his head, drearily knowing. He always had. Even when they'd first met, he'd seen the boy as nothing but a burden, and had gladly forgotten about him as often as he could. It sparked a guilt inside Pintel that made him sick to his stomach, and the pain increased tenfold when he remembered just how trusting and loyal that child had remained to him, despite it all. The soldiers of Port Royal hadn't driven Rags away all by themselves—his own uncle had helped them do it with twenty years of abuse.

Pintel hung his head and sent Ragetti a second cheerless glance, but just as he did so, another thought came into his mind, and he stumbled away from his gloomy trance.

He hadn't entirely forgotten the boy. Yes, he'd tried to ignore Rags at first, but now that Pintel thought back to that first meeting, he also remembered the words they'd exchanged on that fateful evening. He had felt sorry for the pathetic child, and in that single moment of pity, he'd chosen to enlighten Ragetti. Advice and a name, wisdom and dignity; that was what Pintel had given him. He hadn't dangled that fulfillment on a string over his little head and made false promises—he'd _given_ the lad what he wanted. And Rags had instantly taken to him like an enamored puppy.

That thought at least earned a small smirk from Pintel. Whether Rags was growling at enemies or prodding and sniffing at dead pelicans, the crazy lank had always been like a dog…

And that was when a second, even more startling idea flashed into Robert Pintel's head.

The old pirate immediately sprang back to life like he'd been shocked, and his wide eyes flew over to the lone figure that'd been the bane of his existence for ten months: the prison dog. Pintel stared at the silent animal with awe.

Of course. How could he not have realized it before? This creature thought the exact same way that Ragetti once had—who was to say that the exact same method wouldn't win this pooch over as well? The grizzled man spotted his abandoned piece of bread lying just off to the side, perfectly intact and in reach…

He looked up at Ragetti one more time. His young friend had always felt the need to roam free and explore, but the fear of loneliness had always slowed him down—perhaps their confinement had simply chased him out of the room, and not out of existence. Maybe that giddy, hopeful little boy wasn't completely dead after all, but in fact standing just outside these very prison doors, waiting for them. Maybe…just maybe…that child really could be brought back.

Pintel was decided. Determination glared firmly in his eyes, and lifting his shoulders, he reached out and snatched up that crusty morsel once again. He was going to see if prison had taught him patience.

The pirate turned his attention back to the dog and came to crouch in front of the bars for the second time that night. He stared at the hairy little beast for a moment, trying to read whatever thoughts lurked behind its furry face, then finally launched his plan. Pintel calmly held up the piece of bread, reached through the prison bars…and threw it to Port Royal's key keeper.

The dog jumped with another jangle of the keys as the moldy scrap landed on the floor beside it. There was a nervous pause as the mongrel sniffed at this strange white object, then it finally stepped forward and lowered its head for a closer study. A look of content appeared on Pintel's face, and with that, he turned and went over to squat beside Ragetti's bench.

He looked up at his friend patronizingly. "Yeh still fink we deserves to be strung up like the mutinous rats we are?"

Ragetti didn't even look at him when he gave his blunt response. "Aye, I _knows_ so."

Pintel humored him, nodding with mock understanding. "That a fact?" Then he leaned closer with a confident smirk. "Well wot would you say if I told you I had a plan to get us out of 'ere?"

Something in his voice made Ragetti turn his head slightly, just enough so he could peer at the older man through the corner of his good eye. At first, he seemed to consider the unlikely scenario, but then all of a sudden, the puzzled light in his stare gave way to a nasty scowl.

"I'd say you was a stupid blighter."

Pintel stopped, and the full impact of these words suddenly sank in. The smirk fell from his lips an instant later. A stupid blighter? A _stupid blighter_? The name stung, surprisingly so, and Pintel found he didn't have the power to hide his hurt expression.

Stupid blighter. It was one of the deepest, gravest insults that the young man had to offer, and he'd just all but thrown it in the old pirate's face without a hint of regret. True, Ragetti had said it indirectly, but the situation that the scrawny wretch had meant his slur for wasn't nearly as hypothetical anymore as it might have seemed. Pintel bit back his sadness. A stupid blighter. So that was what Ragetti really thought of him after all this.

Still, the older man tried to put up a fierce front. A dark cloud passed over his face, and he warningly raised his scraggly eyebrows as he fought to maintain that condescending tone.

"Would yeh now? Well we'll just see who's the stupid blighter, you ugly maggot."

With that, Pintel lowered his gaze and sat back against his wall in silence, grudgingly nursing his emotional wound. He'd meant to call him a one-eyed maggot—that would've definitely had the right impact. But even after Ragetti's harsh words, the single haunting memory of that horrible, piercing scream remained deeply engraved in Pintel's mind, and he was still unwilling to take such a cheap shot.

Ragetti turned his head all the way around to glare oddly at Pintel then. The lanky prisoner got no look in return; the only thing his cellmate wanted to stare at now seemed to be completely internal. Ragetti wrinkled his nose at this strange behavior and turned back around to sit his chin on his knees again. But just as he was doing this, the jittering outline of the little gray dog caught his eye, and he paused to look at it. And then the scrawny figure froze.

The mutt wasn't holding its keys. They were lying on the stone floor right between its front paws, where they'd been placed to free their keeper's mouth. Ragetti squinted through the faint moonlight and saw, with surprise, that the hairy animal was gulping down a stale piece of bread. Pinters had been trying to lure it over to their cell with a piece of bread an hour ago…

Ragetti's head immediately snapped around again to gawk at the sullen older man in shock. It hadn't been a taunting joke after all. There really was a plan.

A sick feeling of dread began bubbling up inside him, and then Rags suddenly realized what a horrible thing he'd just said.

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One more chapter to go...


	23. Just the Way it Should Be

(Disclaimer: Pintel, Ragetti, and POTC are not my creations.)

**Just the Way it Should Be**

Ragetti's guilty misery stayed with him for the rest of that night, and lingered on through the next morning. Now it was late afternoon, and the scrawny pirate still felt no better about his words than he had twelve hours ago. However, all of that forlorn time had given him a chance to think, and he'd just realized something a few moments ago. Warily, Ragetti lifted his head to watch Pintel.

The older man was seated in front of the bars at that hour, now tossing today's meager meal to the dog. In Pintel's mind, he wasn't angry enough with his younger cellmate to completely give up escaping again—_he_ certainly had no intention of rotting in this cage when there was a way out—and there was something vaguely pleasing about seeing that pooch scarf down the bread it was offered. Besides, Pintel was far too proud of his clever plan to let it go unfollowed.

Ragetti continued to observe his bald companion for another tense moment, nervously rubbing his wooden eye, then finally worked up the courage and stood up from his bench. He made his way over to Pintel and carefully sat down beside him, clearly showing his remorse in his eye. The other pirate stared at him with detached acknowledgement, looking him up and down distastefully. Ashamed, Ragetti lowered his head slightly and inched back.

"I figure I'd still be standin' in the dirt in Tortuga if it wasn't for you bringin' me along wif you all them years ago."

Pintel knew precisely what Rags was talking about. "You wouldn't even be standin' today," he grumbled matter-of-factly.

Ragetti nodded, grimly agreeing, then glanced up at the ceiling. "…It's just this place. Y'know? It does fings to people." He looked sheepishly but sincerely at Pintel. "Makes 'em change sort of."

Pintel squinted oddly, trying to figure him out. "Wot're you getting' at?"

The younger man leaned away and dropped his gaze again. "I didn't mean to say all that stuff b'fore. …Didn't mean to call you what I did…" He swallowed hard and met his uncle's eye once more. "'M sorry, Pinters."

The apology was heartfelt and genuine enough, but Pintel still wasn't entirely convinced. "You're just sayin' that 'cause I found a way out!" he scowled.

But Ragetti shook his head firmly at this, facing his accuser directly. "No. No I'm not." He looked down then as he gathered his words, and for the first time in his life, a scrap of intelligence could be seen on his muddy face.

"I'm sayin' it 'cause it's the truf'. …When I was a kid, you taught me 'bout stupid blighters. And you told me what kinda person a stupid blighter was." Ragetti paused, then looked up at Pintel once more. "You ain't a stupid blighter, Pinters. You never was."

Pintel plainly hadn't expected to hear this, and dropped his gaze in thought. Again, he knew exactly what the younger fellow was talking about, as he'd also recently recalled their first encounter, and the old pirate also knew what person Ragetti was officially contrasting him to. Pintel's disgust faded into an expressionless face, and he nodded to himself as he then thought back to his previous conversation with Rags.

"Eh." He flicked his hand dismissingly. "It was just a hypothetical insult anyway."

Ragetti forced a relieved smile at these quiet words, and Pintel glanced up to see it. A mutual understanding shown in both of their eyes.

That set aside, the pair then turned look at the dog.

The skinnier of the two tilted his head thoughtfully. "Y'know, Pinters," he said, still watching the animal. "If givin' the dog a piece of bread'll make 'im like us, wouldn't givin' 'im _two_ pieces make 'im like us more?"

Pintel whipped his head around to stare strangely at Ragetti, but he soon latched on to this apparent idea. "…And get 'im to trust us faster?" he chimed in hopefully.

Something sparked in Ragetti's eye when this was said, and he silently reached into his pocket and retrieved his own measly lunch. Then he reached through the bars and threw it to the dog as well.

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It took them over a week to get that hound to come to them, but after all the countless hours of watching and waiting without a crumb of food in their own stomachs, their patience finally paid off. Pintel and Ragetti had been dropping the bread a little closer to their cell every time, prompting the hairy key keeper to cross that agonizing distance more and more, and on the very last night, they'd had only to sit the bait right outside the bars.

Seeing the two white morsels, the dog eagerly got up, and without any hesitation at all, it trotted up to the cell and began sniffing them over. The two pirates quickly scooted back, giving the animal its space. There was a pause that felt like ages as it sniffed at the food, jingling its keys all the while, but sure enough, the dog was enticed. It readily wolfed down the first piece—and sat the keys down right before it did so.

Pintel saw his chance. He looked like a ghost, sitting there in the moonlight and slowly lifting his hand, but he felt very much alive and determined as he glared down at his overdue freedom. His fingers passed silently through the iron barrier, inching ever so carefully across the stone floor…

Clink!

The dog jerked its head to the right and blinked. Pintel immediately froze, nervously bulging his eyes. His fingertips were resting right on top of the metal ring. Beside him, Ragetti had an identically tense gawk on his face. The pooch stared calmly at the apparent theft unfolding next to it, but then turned its attention back to its offering and began gulping down the second piece of bread. It didn't care about the keys.

And so Pintel heartily claimed them for himself.

"Got 'em!" he hissed. Ragetti scrambled over to see for himself, completely in awe of their success. He was about to add his own gleeful comment, but Pintel anxiously turned away to search for the right key, jamming each one into their cell lock. Not knowing what else to do, Ragetti reached outside again to half-heartedly rub the dog's head—to distract the mutt from barking.

Pintel grinned as he continued testing the keys.

"Man's best friend," he mused to himself.

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Finding the right key was no chore at all, and once that filthy cell door was nudged open with a final creak, Pintel returned the ring of trinkets to its rightful owner. Ragetti was less than a step behind him, and as soon as the two were out, they went to their right and crept cautiously down the shadowy hall to a waiting passageway. Neither one of them did more than glance back at the cells of their five fellow crewmen. Let the sots figure it out for themselves.

They came close to running into a guard only once, but the sound of the young soldier's boots gave him away long before he appeared, and the two jailbirds were able to duck inside a nearby storage room before he ever caught sight of them. As it turned out, this near disaster couldn't have come at a better time, because a second after those heavy footfalls died away, Pintel peered over his shoulder and discovered where they were.

Apparently, the soldiers of Port Royal never disposed of the weapons they confiscated from prisoners; they just threw that array of swords, pistols, and other nasty tools into this very closet. Less than a minute later, the pair emerged from the storage room with a handful of suitable replacement cutlasses and guns. Pintel poked his head out through the doorway to scan the coast first, and seeing that it was all clear, motioned for Ragetti to follow. His lanky mate complied, but right before he stepped out of the crowded compartment, one more item caught his eye.

Curious, Ragetti reached down and snatched up the object—a thick, leather-bound book that'd fallen on the floor—then stowed it inside his jacket for safekeeping.

The next doorway he and Pintel found led them outside. The two were grateful that it was still night out, as the darkness gave them extra cover, but security was hardly an option that either of them could afford right now. They had to get out to sea right away, and so they followed the moon's glow right down to the docks, where its silver rays reflected beautifully against the waves. Once there, they had no trouble finding a rowboat and oars.

Pintel squatted down to position their escape vessel in the water, thinking. Tortuga was about one day away, as a full-sized ship sailed. Two men in a rowboat would probably reach the island in…well, maybe now wasn't the best time to dwell on that. Leaving Port Royal would be a good start at any rate. Perhaps there were some other, unaccounted islands on the way to Tortuga that would suffice for a rest spot.

A dull jingling sound suddenly interrupted the man's thoughts, and he turned to give Ragetti a silencing glare. When he looked behind him though, he saw the real cause for the sound and stopped. Maybe the other crewmen weren't going to figure out the same escape for themselves after all.

Pintel blinked. "Wot're yeh bringin' the dog for?"

"I ain't," Ragetti grumbled. "The stupid mongrel won't leave us alone. I fink all that bread's gone to 'is thick li'l 'ead."

The older pirate couldn't help but frown a bit at these honest words. It seemed like prison had left Ragetti with some scars that even freedom couldn't heal. Even so, this minor setback was still the least of their problems right now, and Pintel turned his attention back to the boat.

They had a brief argument then, in which Pintel demanded he do all the rowing for now and give the oars to Ragetti when he got tired, while Rags argued that it would take Pintel twice as long to _get_ tired if they each rowed one side. In the end, they agreed that rowing together was impractical because they would both get tired at the same time and have no one else to take over, and so Pintel got his way.

The aging buccaneer edged into the rowboat, glancing up at his younger companion after the vessel had stopped bobbing. Free or not, the gangly man's imprisonment had definitely changed him in more ways than one. His blonde hair had grown longer from the months without a sword to cut it, and it cast an extra shadow over his thin face, seeming to add years. Pintel was pretty sure that Ragetti would hack it all off again when he found the time, but there was something else there, another difference that lay deep below the surface. The taller pirate was quicker than he'd been before, more straightforward and less hesitant in his movements, and when he glanced down at his companion, a clear sharpness could be seen in his one good eye. He was no longer afraid.

It was then that realization dawned on Pintel, and he quietly watched as his nephew climbed into the boat after him. Ragetti had become a real man in prison. He was no longer the half-audible child who followed his guardian around and did whatever he was told without question; he had grown more intelligent, or at least had learned how to harness intelligence now. Pintel no longer had the same control over Ragetti that he once did.

The bald man averted his gaze slightly. It was probably going to take him a while to get used to that; he had a feeling they'd be having a lot more arguments in the future. Ragetti thought like a human now—more so, he thought like his uncle. And Robert Pintel knew from experience that such a characteristic could only mean inevitable confrontation.

A faint smile passed over Pintel's set lips then as he took up the oars and pushed the boat out towards the waves, stopping to let the third member of their little renegade band hop aboard.

Good. Just the way it should be.

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**The End**

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YES! I finished my story before "At World's End" came out :)

Just for the record, that book Ragetti found in the jail was the Bible. We all know where that plotline goes!

Anyway, thank you so much everybody for reading this story and giving it so many excellent reviews! It's really meant the world to me!

…And never fear. I think some of the old Rags is coming back too. We all saw him grabbing onto Pintel's arm when the Flying Dutchman popped up near the end of DMC, after all.


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